When I walk out to the living room, Whit has earbuds in his ears, and his eyes are closed.
Probably mediating.
He does that a lot when I’m around.
Well, fuck him too.
* * *
“Shit,” I say, stumbling into the dark apartment. I’m still getting used to this place. It’s so nice and new and expensive.
How rent is so cheap is beyond me. I got hella lucky locking this place down.
Even if I have to share a room with Whit.
“He’s so…tall,” I grumble, dropping my keys on the floor. I stare at them for a moment and then bend down, unable to grab them right away. The ground is spinning.
“Whoa,” I mutter and then right myself.
A few minutes ago, my best friend, Mal, dropped my drunk ass off before peeling away from the curb, leaving me to maneuver my way into the apartment myself. He’s usually a better friend than that. I think he’s excited to get over to Bree’s house. She was making eyes at him all night, and I think he knows he’s getting some soon.
Unlike me.
I’m getting nothing.
Not that I couldn’t have gotten anything. I could have. A few times. But I didn’t want anything. Not really. I wasn’t feeling it. Haven’t been feeling it for a while.
Honestly, I just feel like shit tonight. My head is woozy. Everything is tilted slightly.
I just want a nice long hug. Someone to run their hands through my hair. Maybe hold my hand.
I do a pretty good job of not breaking my neck as I barrel into the apartment and grab water from the fridge, guzzling half of it in record time.
Hell, I’m thirsty.
And hot too.
Pulling my shirt off, I fumble with the buttons of my jeans and manage to get one leg out before getting tangled in the other and crashing into the wall. Amazingly, I don’t go straight through it like the Kool-Aid man.
The lights go on, and I blink rapidly as Whit comes into my line of sight. He’s like a mirage, appearing fuzzy on the edges and slowly coming into focus.
“Hey there,” I slur. I know I’m a sight to behold. Half-naked, my pants hanging off my right ankle.
On the other hand, Whit's hair is slightly rumpled, and his eyes are bleary from sleep. He looks more human right now than I’ve ever seen him. He still looks too put together for my taste.
I’d like to mess that hair up. Maybe bite down on his neck. Leave a mark or two.
Hm.
“What are you doing?” he asks, and I find the questions so ridiculous that I snort a small laugh.
“Trying to go to bed. Tripped though. And fell.” I wave dramatically around and end up hitting my hand on the wall.
Ouch.
Whit rubs at his forehead before squatting down beside me. He’s wearing track pants and a long-sleeve thermal. Both dark grey.
“You are so goth, emo boy.”