I want to read and sing and dance and clean and write and then listen to music and draw with my new oil pastels and make a dress and cut my hair and drink some wine (although I would never do anything like that.. *wink, wink*) and then curl up in my blankets and fall asleep on the floor in front of a fire.
Yeah, I've got a lot of energy today. Or maybe not.
Wow. Um, okay. My mind is kind of going into over load here. It's weird. I can feel myself fast approaching that state of exhaustion I've shared with you before. It's funny, though. My best work is always done when I'm really tired. Or when I'm really hungry, or when I'm both at the same time. It's like pushing myself so that I'm dangerously close to the edge brings on a kind of clarity that is unique and wonderful and a one of a kind effect of burning the candle at both ends.
I think I'm addicted to burning candles.
And if you get tired enough, your body sends you this adrenaline rush, or something very close to it, and it feels really great, and all you want to do is run five miles.
Yeah, I just realized how crazy I'm starting to sound. Don't try this at home, folks.
And I promise I'm not a loony-toon. I just have no filter system what-so-ever when I get tired.
So, because this really clear and creative stage only comes after hours of comatose sitting, you can conclude that I've been laying around a house all day completely brain-dead, eating and staring into space. And we all know that zombies don't think, so from that you can conclude that I have no other thoughts to share with you today.
I blame it on Vent Absurd, my dear friend who's house I had been at for over 24 hours. And Jessi, of course, even though she really didn't do anything but be outragously cool.
Well, since there are no other thoughts to contribute, and I've rambled far passed enough, without further adoooooooo.......(drum roll please: badaba-badaba-badaba-DA!)
Story Corner:
...................
The door to her room swung open for the second time that day. He just stood there, looking inside, watching as she pushed in front of him and quickly tidied a couple of things. As she did this, she told him, "You can come in if you want. Make yourself comfortable."
He didn't acknowledge her at all. Instead, he picked at the sleeve of the shirt she had found for him, avoiding her gaze. The clothes he was wearing now belonged to her dad, and he chose to focus on how they were much too big on him instead of her. Almost since the time he had first seen her, he hadn't been able to pull his eyes away from her. He knew it was rude, and he knew it made her uncomfortable to be recieving his attention, but he couldn't stop. It seemed like a game of cat and mouse, both exhilarating and frightening when watching, even more so when you're being seen. And their glances had been like a ping-pong ball, bouncing back and forth between them all day. It was dizzying.
He heard her sigh. Reluctantly, he lifted his eyes. She said, "Really. Come in. Get in bed. You need to rest, and this is where you'll be sleeping, anyway."
He frowned. "What about you?"
It was her turn to frown. "What do you mean? I'm not the one who is mortally injured."
"Yes, but where will you sleep?"
Looking away, she shuffled her feet. "I'll find a place...the couch or something. It's not a big deal."
He studied her for a couple more seconds, and then nodded. It didn't feel right to kick her out of her own bed, but she did have a point; he was exhausted, and he needed to rest, or he risked serious health implications. Taking a deep breath, he stepped through the door, walked to the bed, and hesitantly sat down. After more urging from her, he stretched out, finally laying down.
She pulled an extra blanket from the closet, and laid it on top of the already bulging mound of comforters on her bed. He pulled them up, feeling self-concious, but not really knowing how to diffuse the awkward situation. He had never been good at stuff like this, and he wasn't going to try now, so he would just have to suffer the discomforture.
As if they had a mind of their own, his eyes found their way to her, and he didn't even realize he was watching her until a few minutes had passed. Closing his eyes seemed like a good way to solve his problem. Or at least one of them.
Swallowing, he asked a question he had been saving ever since he had walked into her house. "Where are your parents?"
He heard her hands freeze on the blankets she was fussing with. Curiousity compelled him to open his eyes, and he saw that her expression was equally as frozen. The silence blossomed in the air, but finally she answered. "They aren't home. They probably won't be until much later."
The last thing he needed was her parents to walk into her room and see a strange boy in her bed, regardless of whether or not she was in it or not. "How much later is 'much later?'"
She looked down at her hands, something he noticed she did a lot. Or at least something she was doing a lot today. He idilly wondered why she did it; there had to be a reason for her nervous habit. Mentally he shook himself. He was focusing on her parents. Unwanted attention. Possible catastrophy. Her answer.
"I don't know if they even will get home. If they do, then it won't be until after midnight, and they'll more than likely crash as soon as they walk in the door. You don't have to worry about them finding you here."
Even though her hair fell around her bowed head in a shiny brown wave, it didn't mask her expression. He was sorry he had asked, because this was obviously a painful subject for her. He wouldn't doubt it if she told him her parents stayed out every night. It was practically stamped across her face. He wondered how long they had been neglecting her; it must have been for a long time, considering the stricken look playing across her features. It made him angry to think that anyone could do that to her.
He didn't say anything, but before he could stop himself, he was reaching out for her hand. He was touching her before he could cancel the command. It was worth it, though. Her hand was warm and small, and it felt good to have her fragile fingers laced with his. Like the first time he had done this, she didn't pull away immediately; the seconds ticked by and she let him comfort her. But the reality of their situation soon caught up with her. She didn't even know him; she pulled away.
He decided to put his hands under the covers so that he wouldn't be tempted to reach out again. He hadn't realized how cold he was, but now he was shivering. Acting casual, he tried to subdue his shaking muscles. It didn't escape her notice. Scooting closer to him, she laid a hand on his forehead, and it was surprisingly cool to the touch. She frowned. "You're getting a fever. Maybe I should go get some asprin. That would help the pain too. I'll be right back."
Standing up, she left the room.
Once she was gone, he allowed himself to mentally assess the damage. His ankle was starting to throb now, probably because the pain that was so immenent before had subsided some. His stab wound felt better than it had. Closing his eyes, he recalled the moment just a few minutes ago when she had dressed his injury. He could still feel the fluttering of her fingers against his bare skin, and it made him shiver, but in a completely different way than the ones that were induced by the cold.
He didn't have much time to linger on this, because just in seconds she reappeared, carrying a glass of water and a bottle of asprin. She silently handed them over. Involutarily, he paused when their fingers brushed, but quickly moved on. When he flicked his eyes to her face, he could detect the dregs of a blush still on her cheeks. It made him smile, and he busied himself with opening the bottle to hide it. He carefully shook out two tiny pills, and then added another one onto his palm, just for good measure. Then he swallowed the bunch, and once again laid back on the pillows.
She paused a second before she resumed her perch on the edge of the bed. Even with his eyes closed, he could feel her watching his face, could tell that she had something to say. He patiently waited for her to speak up.
When she did, it was quiet. Or maybe he was just drifting off. Either way, he had to perk his ears to hear what she said. "You know, I'm going to have questions for you."
Maybe if he pretented he was asleep, he could evade answering.
"I know you're not sleeping."
Or not. He pulled in a deep breath before saying, "You must be curious, I'm sure."
She snorted. "More like confused, frusterated, and intrigued to the point of captivation."
He opened his eyes to look at her. "Really?"
Quickly, she looked away. "Something like that."
He closed his eyes again, trying to make her at ease again. It was hard; he wanted to see what expressions were dancing on her face. Was she just as interested in him as he was in her?
She broke into his thoughts--which were about her, coincidentally--when she cleared her throat. "Anyway, I want you to actually answer them. You owe me that much, don't you?"
Reluctantly he nodded. "Fine. You have a point. Go ahead. Ask."
She was silent for a while, suspending him in anticipation. But then she said, "No. I'm not going to ask you right now. You're under enough strain as it is." She paused, and when he opened his eyes for a second, he caught a glimpse of her chewing on her lip. Hurriedly, he closed his eyes again. She continued, "No, I'll wait until morning. Then you can give me a full explination, and I won't have to worry about you passing out from exhaustion while you're doing it."
Haha. She was so funny. Or, she would be, if she wasn't right. Even as she talked, he could feel himself drifting, floating. He heard himself agreeing. And then he wasn't saying anything anymore.
But she was still there. Even half-asleep, he could sense her. He could feel her weight depressing the corner of her bed. He had something else to say to her, but the words came slowly to his tounge.
"Thank you. I don't know where I would be right now if you hadn't..." he didn't finish. They both knew what would have happened, and where he would be right now. Where he could still end up, if he wasn't careful.
She didn't make him continue. Instead, very tentatively, she touched his hand. It was a soft touch, so light that he was sure that any second it would be lifted, and that it would surely be the last time that they would ever touch. The thought of that made him panicky, to his great surprise. Again, it hit him that she meant so much to him in such a short time. It shouldn't be possible to feel sick at the thought of loosing her. But that was the way he felt.
As if sensing his distress--although he would never admitt to showing any--she threaded their fingers together and slowly brought their entwined hands to her face. Once there, she placed them against her cheek. She held them there for a moment before letting go and standing up.
He tried very hard to open his eyes one last time to look at her, to ask her to stay. It wasn't until she got to the door that he managed to do so.
"Wait," he said.
She paused in the door frame, and her profile was silloetted in the light coming in from the hallway. He took a deep breath, and then said, "What's your name?"
He held his breath. He could believe he hadn't asked this sooner, or that she hadn't asked him. But the delay made this moment even more important. Almost magical, in a way.
Looking over her shoulder, she studied him for a minute. Finally she said, "Charli. My name is Charli. Who are you?"
The corners of his mouth turned up, and he replied, "That's a very long story for another day. But you can call me Ivan."
He thought he detected a small smile on her lips, and when she spoke, her warm tone fueled his suspicion. "I'll see you in the morning. Ivan."
With that, she was gone.
Charli...the name suited her. He smiled; it was another item he could add to the list of things he knew about her. Too bad that that list didn't even add up to a tenth of the list of things he didn't know about her. With the smile still stretched across his face, and quickly becoming a grin, he rolled over and burrowed his face into her pillows. They smelled like honeysuckle, and he breathed in the scent of her as he drifted off to sleep.
He didn't acknowledge her at all. Instead, he picked at the sleeve of the shirt she had found for him, avoiding her gaze. The clothes he was wearing now belonged to her dad, and he chose to focus on how they were much too big on him instead of her. Almost since the time he had first seen her, he hadn't been able to pull his eyes away from her. He knew it was rude, and he knew it made her uncomfortable to be recieving his attention, but he couldn't stop. It seemed like a game of cat and mouse, both exhilarating and frightening when watching, even more so when you're being seen. And their glances had been like a ping-pong ball, bouncing back and forth between them all day. It was dizzying.
He heard her sigh. Reluctantly, he lifted his eyes. She said, "Really. Come in. Get in bed. You need to rest, and this is where you'll be sleeping, anyway."
He frowned. "What about you?"
It was her turn to frown. "What do you mean? I'm not the one who is mortally injured."
"Yes, but where will you sleep?"
Looking away, she shuffled her feet. "I'll find a place...the couch or something. It's not a big deal."
He studied her for a couple more seconds, and then nodded. It didn't feel right to kick her out of her own bed, but she did have a point; he was exhausted, and he needed to rest, or he risked serious health implications. Taking a deep breath, he stepped through the door, walked to the bed, and hesitantly sat down. After more urging from her, he stretched out, finally laying down.
She pulled an extra blanket from the closet, and laid it on top of the already bulging mound of comforters on her bed. He pulled them up, feeling self-concious, but not really knowing how to diffuse the awkward situation. He had never been good at stuff like this, and he wasn't going to try now, so he would just have to suffer the discomforture.
As if they had a mind of their own, his eyes found their way to her, and he didn't even realize he was watching her until a few minutes had passed. Closing his eyes seemed like a good way to solve his problem. Or at least one of them.
Swallowing, he asked a question he had been saving ever since he had walked into her house. "Where are your parents?"
He heard her hands freeze on the blankets she was fussing with. Curiousity compelled him to open his eyes, and he saw that her expression was equally as frozen. The silence blossomed in the air, but finally she answered. "They aren't home. They probably won't be until much later."
The last thing he needed was her parents to walk into her room and see a strange boy in her bed, regardless of whether or not she was in it or not. "How much later is 'much later?'"
She looked down at her hands, something he noticed she did a lot. Or at least something she was doing a lot today. He idilly wondered why she did it; there had to be a reason for her nervous habit. Mentally he shook himself. He was focusing on her parents. Unwanted attention. Possible catastrophy. Her answer.
"I don't know if they even will get home. If they do, then it won't be until after midnight, and they'll more than likely crash as soon as they walk in the door. You don't have to worry about them finding you here."
Even though her hair fell around her bowed head in a shiny brown wave, it didn't mask her expression. He was sorry he had asked, because this was obviously a painful subject for her. He wouldn't doubt it if she told him her parents stayed out every night. It was practically stamped across her face. He wondered how long they had been neglecting her; it must have been for a long time, considering the stricken look playing across her features. It made him angry to think that anyone could do that to her.
He didn't say anything, but before he could stop himself, he was reaching out for her hand. He was touching her before he could cancel the command. It was worth it, though. Her hand was warm and small, and it felt good to have her fragile fingers laced with his. Like the first time he had done this, she didn't pull away immediately; the seconds ticked by and she let him comfort her. But the reality of their situation soon caught up with her. She didn't even know him; she pulled away.
He decided to put his hands under the covers so that he wouldn't be tempted to reach out again. He hadn't realized how cold he was, but now he was shivering. Acting casual, he tried to subdue his shaking muscles. It didn't escape her notice. Scooting closer to him, she laid a hand on his forehead, and it was surprisingly cool to the touch. She frowned. "You're getting a fever. Maybe I should go get some asprin. That would help the pain too. I'll be right back."
Standing up, she left the room.
Once she was gone, he allowed himself to mentally assess the damage. His ankle was starting to throb now, probably because the pain that was so immenent before had subsided some. His stab wound felt better than it had. Closing his eyes, he recalled the moment just a few minutes ago when she had dressed his injury. He could still feel the fluttering of her fingers against his bare skin, and it made him shiver, but in a completely different way than the ones that were induced by the cold.
He didn't have much time to linger on this, because just in seconds she reappeared, carrying a glass of water and a bottle of asprin. She silently handed them over. Involutarily, he paused when their fingers brushed, but quickly moved on. When he flicked his eyes to her face, he could detect the dregs of a blush still on her cheeks. It made him smile, and he busied himself with opening the bottle to hide it. He carefully shook out two tiny pills, and then added another one onto his palm, just for good measure. Then he swallowed the bunch, and once again laid back on the pillows.
She paused a second before she resumed her perch on the edge of the bed. Even with his eyes closed, he could feel her watching his face, could tell that she had something to say. He patiently waited for her to speak up.
When she did, it was quiet. Or maybe he was just drifting off. Either way, he had to perk his ears to hear what she said. "You know, I'm going to have questions for you."
Maybe if he pretented he was asleep, he could evade answering.
"I know you're not sleeping."
Or not. He pulled in a deep breath before saying, "You must be curious, I'm sure."
She snorted. "More like confused, frusterated, and intrigued to the point of captivation."
He opened his eyes to look at her. "Really?"
Quickly, she looked away. "Something like that."
He closed his eyes again, trying to make her at ease again. It was hard; he wanted to see what expressions were dancing on her face. Was she just as interested in him as he was in her?
She broke into his thoughts--which were about her, coincidentally--when she cleared her throat. "Anyway, I want you to actually answer them. You owe me that much, don't you?"
Reluctantly he nodded. "Fine. You have a point. Go ahead. Ask."
She was silent for a while, suspending him in anticipation. But then she said, "No. I'm not going to ask you right now. You're under enough strain as it is." She paused, and when he opened his eyes for a second, he caught a glimpse of her chewing on her lip. Hurriedly, he closed his eyes again. She continued, "No, I'll wait until morning. Then you can give me a full explination, and I won't have to worry about you passing out from exhaustion while you're doing it."
Haha. She was so funny. Or, she would be, if she wasn't right. Even as she talked, he could feel himself drifting, floating. He heard himself agreeing. And then he wasn't saying anything anymore.
But she was still there. Even half-asleep, he could sense her. He could feel her weight depressing the corner of her bed. He had something else to say to her, but the words came slowly to his tounge.
"Thank you. I don't know where I would be right now if you hadn't..." he didn't finish. They both knew what would have happened, and where he would be right now. Where he could still end up, if he wasn't careful.
She didn't make him continue. Instead, very tentatively, she touched his hand. It was a soft touch, so light that he was sure that any second it would be lifted, and that it would surely be the last time that they would ever touch. The thought of that made him panicky, to his great surprise. Again, it hit him that she meant so much to him in such a short time. It shouldn't be possible to feel sick at the thought of loosing her. But that was the way he felt.
As if sensing his distress--although he would never admitt to showing any--she threaded their fingers together and slowly brought their entwined hands to her face. Once there, she placed them against her cheek. She held them there for a moment before letting go and standing up.
He tried very hard to open his eyes one last time to look at her, to ask her to stay. It wasn't until she got to the door that he managed to do so.
"Wait," he said.
She paused in the door frame, and her profile was silloetted in the light coming in from the hallway. He took a deep breath, and then said, "What's your name?"
He held his breath. He could believe he hadn't asked this sooner, or that she hadn't asked him. But the delay made this moment even more important. Almost magical, in a way.
Looking over her shoulder, she studied him for a minute. Finally she said, "Charli. My name is Charli. Who are you?"
The corners of his mouth turned up, and he replied, "That's a very long story for another day. But you can call me Ivan."
He thought he detected a small smile on her lips, and when she spoke, her warm tone fueled his suspicion. "I'll see you in the morning. Ivan."
With that, she was gone.
Charli...the name suited her. He smiled; it was another item he could add to the list of things he knew about her. Too bad that that list didn't even add up to a tenth of the list of things he didn't know about her. With the smile still stretched across his face, and quickly becoming a grin, he rolled over and burrowed his face into her pillows. They smelled like honeysuckle, and he breathed in the scent of her as he drifted off to sleep.
.............................
Thanks for reading!
--Kacie Renn
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