Waking up the next morning was a breeze, I was well rested and actually lively for once. I sat up to yawn, stretching my arms up to wince as I readied my body for the day.
I stopped once I realized that the entire room smelled of bacon. My mouth watered as I stood up with the slight lightheaded feeling I always get when I rise to fast, and headed to the kitchen. I sighed in relief at the sight of the juicy strips sizzling in the pan with butter and seasonings. I reared back when I realized that Lance was cooking it.
The brute cooks?
"What are you doing?" I cocked my brow.
"What do you think I'm doing?" He huffed. "I'm making breakfast." He grinned.
I grumbled, turning around to leave the kitchen. What a jerk. Eating food look like around me without any consideration for how long it's been since I've had a decent meal.
I took the time to get dressed, jeans and a hoodie, then grabbed my bag to pack it up with all of my things for the classes that day. Once I stepped towards the door however, Lance interrupted my exit.
"Aren't you going to eat?" He asked suddenly.
I paused, then turned to him.
"I don't have enough time to make breakfast." I rolled my eyes, then opened the door.
"Well, yeah. I already made it." He lifted up a plate, clearly confused at my response.
I tilted my head. "That's yours."
He smiled softly, looking away. "Uhh.. No, it's yours." He chuckled, essentially at my stupidity.
"Oh." I stared at the plate for a minute.
I wanted to be tough and refuse, but my hunger tore at me and changed my mind.
"I guess I can stay for a little bit longer.." I shrugged, heading into the kitchen past him to sit down.
Lance put the plate in front of me, then sat down across from me to eat at his own. I hesitated while taking my first bite. Poison? Burnt on purpose? Spoiled?..
Delicious..
I practically melted in my seat as I chewed slowly, absorbing the flavors of the bacon, the eggs, and the toast. Although it was simple, I adored him. The breakfast, I adored the breakfast.
"So?" He stared at me. "What do you think?"
"It's amazing!" I stated giddily through a mouth full of bacon.
He smiled softly. "Good."
"You should've entered into a cooking major.." I shook my head.
He shrugged. "I'm not much of a cook.. I just learned from my mom."
"Really? Is your mom a chef then?" I asked without looking up from my plate.
He was silent for a moment, then scratched the side of his head. "No, she works for my dad.."
"Oh. Well what does your dad do?" I glanced up.
"He's a businessman. He buys companies and breaks them into pieces to sell them to other companies for stock. My mom is his supervising attendant.. She helps persuade companies to sell to my dad." He poked at his food aimlessly.
"Is that where you get all your money from?"
I noticed him glare at his hand when I said that.
"Yes. It's where my family gets all their money from."
I finished off my breakfast and set my plate in the sink, rinsing it off briefly with water and soap. Lance was quiet now, so I glanced at him for a moment.
"Are you okay?" I asked gently.
"Fine." He stood up, leaving the kitchen.
I grumbled, grabbed my bag from the back of my chair to throw it over my shoulders again. So much for trying to be nice.
I left our dorm quietly.
*****
On my way back to the dorm, I hummed a soft tune to myself. My favorite song to be exact. It's more instrumental than anything but, I just like how it sounds- even if I'm more of a classic rock type. Believe it or not.
It's called "Flightless Bird - American Mouth." I first heard it when I was watching "The Twilight Saga" in High school with Cassidy. I adored everything presented about it, so that's why I'm humming it now.
Side rant.
I opened the door to the dorm, finding it dark and silent. The beating of my own heart filled in the creepy atmosphere and picked up slightly. I had never been a fan of the dark. The only thing that really kept me sane when the power went out was because Lance was there. No, not like that. It's just the fact that he makes me feel so angry all the time, my brain just didn't have time to react to the dark.
Speaking of Lance... Where was the bastard?
I glanced around the room, watching his empty bed for any movement. I checked his dresser for his keys, still there. I checked the kitchen, nobody.
But then I double checked.
A cold bottle of beer sat out on the kitchen counter, half gone- but not finished. Very strange.
I checked the bathroom, dark and quiet. I just about got ready to give up, when I heard a sound. Was it.. Moaning?
Yes, I'm sure if it. My shower was moaning.
At first I believed that it was the pipes, but when the wave of alcohol stung my nose once I stepped inside- I knew just who it was.
I tore the shower curtain back, looking down into the tub to find Lance- covered in his own waste and a dirty blunt hanging from his cracked lips. It took me a moment to fully register what his situation was, before I noticed the half empty bottle of Jack Daniels in his grasp.
"Lance! Are you kidding me!" I shouted, clearly taking him by no surprise.
After he gave me no response, I let out a grunt of frustration, which also proved to be a waste of my time. He was once again silent.
"Do you even realize what hour it is? Or how dangerous smoking is? Let alone drinking a whole bottle of whiskey by yourself, in the bathroom with the lights off on top of that?" I rambled on, while he seemed to be clueless of what I was getting at. "The least you could've done was drink a water afterwards, just to-" I stopped.
Was he crying?
"Are you okay?" I asked softly, tone lowering to a more subtle level, since he clearly wasn't receptive to aggression.
He let out a shaky groan, a heaved exhale following soon after as he opened his red eyes, swollen with tears to look up at me. A glare was plastered on his features, very forced, very vulnerable.
"No, I'm not okay-" He slurred. "Never okay.." His head bobbled like a toy to the right as he shook it weekly with an amused chuckle.
I wouldn't really call myself the comforting type, let alone a snuggle. To hell and back was I going to snuggle with this guy. He smelled like week old piss.
"I call my dad right?.. And he goes," He lifted his shoulders to look bulky as he lowered his tone. "How's my boy? Studying well? Acing those finals I hope.' And I say, 'yeah dad, things are good. I got a good score on all the tests and shit.' Then he says, 'That's good! I'm looking forward to seeing you soon. I found a scholarship opportunity for you, David Mitchell offered you a position in his office as a producer!' So I go, 'well that's great dad, but I don't wanna be a producer- I want to be myself.' So then he starts goin' on about how I should be responsible and take action for once in a lifetime opportunities, like selling stock is something I wanna do, right?"
By this point, I can barely make out anything he's saying. He's stammering and slurring, swaying his head back and forth.. But I'm still listening.
"So I go ahead and tell him what I wanna do. I stop him right in the middle of his speech and I go.. 'Dad.. I want to be an artist..'-"
I stop for a moment. He wants to be an artist? Surely he has to be speaking from a drunken perspective, there's no way somebody like him would want to be an artist. Maybe a famous actor or a model, maybe a singer or a guitarist in a band, but an artist?
"Then I need to be a spaceman, and the business won't run if I don't get the monkeys back to base-"
"Alright alright Lance.. Let get you to bed." I interrupted, finally coming to terms with the fact that he is utterly intoxicated.
While I helped lift him out of the tub as he stumbled back and forth, he continued to steal small sips from the whiskey he still clutched as if it were life and death.
I sat him down on his bed and took the bottle away from him.
"Heeeeey-" He protested, reaching for the bottle as I reacted by holding it out of reach.
I headed into the kitchen where I emptied the substance into the sink and tossed the now empty bottle into the trash before trailing back into the room.
I paused when I realized his features had changed. He was now staring aimlessly at the ground, a deeply gutted frown plastering his lips.
I had no other choice than to sit down with him, or he'd keep me up all night long.
For a long while, we just sat in silence, each thinking to ourselves in our own little worlds- one slightly more delusional than the other, until..
Lance finally broke.
Broke down.
On me.
He leaned his head against my shoulder in a sudden shift, eyes balling as the tears began to stream over his already swollen cheeks. He sniffled and cried, chest heaving for air as if he couldn't get enough of it.
And all I could do was sit and silence and wonder what had gotten me to this point.
I slowly but surely reached an arm around him, patting his back twice in a uncomfortably unstable motion, only to be latched onto by the collar of my shirt. He dragged his hand down my chest slowly to grip the fabric at my sternum, as I gave on an involuntary shiver. He seeped deep into my shoulders side, like a distressed damsel. Boy oh boy would I have liked to capture this moment just to mess with him when he was sober. I could practically taste the sweet sweet revenge. Yes, I know. Blackmail is a crime, but if it were for a good cause..
I paused, and looked at the struggling male before me. As mean as he was, I couldn't bare to embarrass him for it. Especially after he poured his heart out to me.. Accidentally, of course, but the point is- I wouldn't do that.
I closed my eyes slowly and sighed ever since slightly, rotating my body to face him as I slithered my arms beneath his shoulders and laced them behind his back.
My sudden embrace must have took him by surprise as he fell mostly silent, before guiding his hands around my back as well, tightening his grip as I struggled to keep myself from crying out.
Although I was suffocating...
I felt like he needed this...