rebkim88
"How long are you going to wallow in self-pity like this?" he kicked at your small blanket cocoon. "I don't even understand why you get so worked up over reality TV."
"You don't get it!" you cry, burying your face in your blanket clad knees. "I need to wallow! She was my favorite contestant and she got voted off!"
"I didn't get the job" you say.
"You're not eligible for the position," was his reply.
"Why the hell not?"
"Didn't they want a bachelor's degree?"
"Well yeah, but I've been to college."
"You dropped out."
"You have a better job than I do but you've never been to college!"
"Because I have a better work ethic."
"If we could go on vacation anywhere on the globe, where would we go?"
"Nowhere," he said, "because I can't trust you to behave. You'll probably find a way to scandalize the locals and we'll be kicked out of the country."
"Wow," you snorted. "You have so much faith in me."
"Yeah well you don't have a great track record. You get us kicked out of bars. Countries are the next logical step."
You always liked to see him do well, because he was always so hindered with self-doubt. So when he finally figures out how to play that damn chord - because those long fingers aren't meant for guitar strings - your face light up with love and your heart soars. He really doesn't smile enough.
"I don't need to go to the gym. I'm naturally thin."
"Well good. I wouldn't want some muscly trainer eyeing you up."
"I... what?"
"You know, because people would totally stare at you. And that's bad."
"You do know that I'm a rail thin twenty year old man, right?"
"Don't mean they won't stare."
"I'm freezing."
"No meat on those bones," you tease, poking at your boyfriend in his blanket cocoon.
"Genetic," he snaps at you.
"I know, I know. Still too skinny to keep yourself warm. So you hogged all the blankets."
"I'm freezing."
"Let me into the cocoon, I'll help warm you up."
"You got my shirt wrinkled."
"Sorry."
"Why were you wearing it?"
"I had an interview. Anyway, it was in the hamper anyway."
"Wait. You wore a wrinkly shirt to an interview?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"You didn't iron it?"
"No. Should I?"
"Yes. A shirt like this needs a good pressing to look presentable. You're hopeless."
"You rented out your bike?"
"Only temporarily."
"Why?"
"I was short on cash and you complain that I borrow too much from you."
"But without your bike how will you get to work?"
"Well I could use your car... oh, wait."
"Go get your bike back."
"But I rented it out for a week!"
That was how I felt when I came home to a vacated apartment house. How I felt when a space one occupied by two was now a solitary cell for one. I had just gotten back from the worst visit home in a long time, how could you just disappear? It was like a tornado had ripped right up my center.
He wore grey suits.
"It's slate. That's the color. Slate."
"Pretentious," you scoffed. "Can't you just call it 'grey'?"
"No. Because it's slate. It says so on the label."
"Again, pretentious. It's grey."
He sighed. "It's slate."
"Pretentious."
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writing since 2014 · 13 entries · 13 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Rebekah showed up.
5longest streak
13days written
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the words Rebekah reaches for
slateolivesgreypretentiousbikeshirtblanketcocoonkickedsmilemisssorryolivemercysongwore