Folk-ballads of Southern Europe by Sophie Jewett Katharine Lee Bates
- Penguin Group (USA)
- NOOK Book
- File size:
- 293 KB
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I rest my head against the pillow as the sun shines through the shutters. I want to get up. I roll over on my side and realize a mess of blonde and brown curls right against my chest. Scratch that, I want to know why a mess of soft curls is tickling me. Then I remember last night, fight with her boyfriend, names, I royally told him what he could do with himself and where he could stuff his ego. Then what was crying turned to cuddling, then giggling, then a couple drinks of spiked tea later we were here. I feel her wrap her arms around my waist and her warm cheek is against my ribcage. "Mmm, mph." She mutters just waking up. "G'morning gorgeous." I mumble gathering some of her hair to move aside. She looks at me slightly sleepily through her tent of hair and her eyes widen in shock. I want to avert my eyes for the next part because I know it but I can't and the guilt registers on her face. "I did it again..." She mumbles to herself, even though it cuts into ME. I want to say, well don't look so depressed about it, or tease her and say, I think I helped a little, or at least you seemed to think so... But instead I say,"I wil go get some coffee." I wish she'd snuggle closer to me and ask me to stay, or kiss me and say she's not totally dissapointed that she didn't wake up with tear stained cheeks in her own bed. Instead I get a,"Me too please?" And I nod with the finality before I go to start the stupid coffee. In a bit of defiance I grab HER hoodie from off the floor and pull it on. She rolls over in my bed, sheets draped over her back like in those PG13 movies where the angst is revved up so much for the highschool boys that they are salivating on themselves. I feel stupid, more stupid than the coffee I now have to make. I am NOT a teenage boy, but my mouth watered at that. The idea of loving her echoes in my brain but I shove it to the edge again as stupid insanity. I am NOT a masochist, and the very notion of loving that girl would require a devotion to masochism. I manage to finish the coffee without really focusing on it. All I am focusing on is last night, and the morning I had versus the morning I wish I'd had. She and I have ended up in this area of the hotel of heartbreak a total of 8 times, which was after I told her of my lack of definition in the orientational area. Lines that were, at least as she had made it seem, defined and unbreakable for her, were blurry and lacking definition for me. Her? Arrow meet target. Me, hello boomerang. I knew it was hopeless everytime her lips touched mine, everytime my heart thudded and I made the choice that this was okay. It was natural. A release. She needed it, I gave it to her. I am single so I wasn't committing any major screw up. And her boyfriend was a useless nothing (I say with no anger, jealousy, or malice) so I just allow her to vent. Let him get blue balled a couple times while I got what my brain screamed for, it wasn't exactly like I was losing anything... Well, I didn't think I was until number 6 when my heart started telling me some crazy stuff. Sin number 7 practically knocked me over. And finally number 8 pretty much had it's way with me. Now I'm limping away trying to pretend it didn't mess with me. I do not want her thinking it effects me. The second she realizes that I will be cut off. I grab her cup, and walk back into the room to find her sleeping. I smile and place the cups on the side table crawling in behind her. As I dose off I promise myself I won't screw this up.