AllFreeNovel
Share Us
We’re the same.
But we’re different too. Our differences are like unopened books begging to be consumed. As far as I go, I’ve never been read front-to-back by anyone, but I’d check out a library card just to read all of her. She’s the writer, though. I’m sure her insides are a whole lot more eloquent than whatever’s living in me.
“I want to know more about you too,” I cement. “Whatever you want to give me, especially if it’s everything.”
“Will you give me everything?” she asks.
Yes, is the first gut reaction. I’ll give you my world.
Except there are dark parts of my world that I’d rather she never really see.
So I end up saying, “I’m gonna try.”
“Same.”
“Ditto,” I grin and flash the I love you hand gesture. Then I glance at her neon clock on the end table. It’s late. Too late. “Alright, I probably shouldn’t overstay my welcome tonight.” Her perked nipples are driving me insane, and I smell her floral scent all over me, even though I only held her hand.
She nods like she gets it. “Just friends.”
“Only friends. Who happen to share a bathroom, but this isn’t to be used and abused for secret rendezvous and whatnot. Gotta keep it rated G for the lava lamp and company.”
Am I delusional or what?
With the meatloaf containers in my hand, she watches me go towards the door. “Donnelly?”
I have a hand on the knob. God, I still don’t want to leave.
“Yeah?” I ask.
She has a hand on Orion’s furry belly, and she gives me the saddest smile I’ve ever seen. “I’m really glad we’re still friends.”
I hate this so much.
“Me too, sad alien.”
DONNELLY’S DAILY PLANNER
THURSDAY, NOV 8TH
Today’s Focus: be the predator. You are a hungry hungry hippo (not literally hungry, thank you late night meatloaf and Momma Lily). Important: make sure Luna knows she’s still loved. Try not to fuck your favorite friend. Don’t jump her bones (seriously).
To Do:
Morning tat.
Gonna go see Dad. Suck it up. Inform Xander’s dad first (you’ve gotta do it).
Return in time to go on X’s detail after school. See what’s up with him (smooth things over *pray hands*)
Notes: Could barely sleep after leaving Luna’s room. Running on energy drinks and the good ole Ripped Fuel today. Yeehaw and high kicks. Haven’t seen her yet. She’s prob still sleeping. Wonder if I’ll get a chance to talk to her before I leave for South Philly???
Meals: Cheerios for brekky. Need some *cheer* in my morning. I am the king of the jungle. Gotta get that pep in my predatory step. Gonna eat lunch with Dad. Eat dinner with Luna? Friendship dinner. Might have to invite another friend too?
Water: don’t be a thirsty bitch (except when it comes to your girl). Is she mine? Chug H20 all day.
Question of the Day: Can I take Luna to the Fanaticon Convention in December? Is a butterfly kiss considered a real kiss? Is Ryke Meadows’ secretly Loren Hale’s hit man?
5
PAUL DONNELLY
Early morning in the penthouse is quiet. I’ve flicked on the bright lights in the kitchen, the cupboards a warm forest-green, and butcher block counters smell like lemon and Lysol. Though, someone left a half-eaten box of sprinkled donuts near the coffee pot, and the remnants of chocolate turtles lie on a paper napkin beside the sink.
Must be Sulli and Jane.
They’re both pregnant. Jane, majorly so, but that’s not why there’s a trail of sweets. Most of the girls are messy. Sulli’s husbands clean up behind her, and I’ve seen Thatcher do the same for Jane.
Would it be bad if I did that for Luna?
I blink away the thought, considering her mess isn’t that bad and doesn’t always strike me as something needing cleaned. Most of the time I just wanna live in it with her.
Guest.
I’m a guest here sleeping in the guest room, and I’m trying to remind myself of that. Can’t get too comfortable. Can’t love it too much, or else it’ll be harder when I’m evicted. Told to go.
Babies are coming, not just from Sulli and Jane. Farrow and Maximoff are having a daughter. Still thinking maybe a boy will pop out instead. Their surrogate Millie Kay has a December due date, and that’s three new kids. I’m fully expecting someone to need the guest room, even if they said they won’t.
It’s fine, though. I can just move back into the Rookie Room.
Ignoring the tightness in my chest, I listen to a familiar buzz. At the breakfast table in the kitchen, only two soggy cheerios left are swimming in a bowl of milk, and my slim can of Lightning Bolt! is beside a glass of water. I don’t reach for either.
With black gloved hands, I ink myself using my tattoo machine. Sitting, my leg is stretched out, foot perched on another chair, and I work on a cover-up.
The needle pierces the flesh of my ankle, and I draw lines off the letters, connecting them to form an abstract shape.
