bittersweet ecstasies — m. & m.
@icexprince
harsh and frigid, the night’s breeze washes over her skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps along her exposed arms. she tilts her head back, gazes up at the waning moon high in the sky, ponders what it would be like to live there, to escape the horrors of earth and simply be elsewhere. away from the agony, the suffering, the torment.
the trouble. miyoung snickers at the mere thought of the word, unconsciously squeezing her fingers tightly around the cellular device she holds in her hand. it brings a soft smile to her face, straining against the taut, bruised skin of her cheeks, eyelids, lips. carding an unsteady hand through her messy hair, she trails the touch, gentle and slow, from tangled jet-black strands to the tender purpling spots discoloring the fairness around her jaw. tiny shocks of pain blossom upon the contact, no matter how careful, but it does not break her grin.
the lilting tone of her friend’s worried badgering fills her head, produced by an imagination set ablaze by subtle guilt. she is able to effortlessly piece together the words the female would most likely use to interrogate both miyoung and her reckless decisions. so predictable. so heartwarming? considerate? exactly what she needs?
she hates thinking about it. “she’s probably already worrying that i haven’t replied yet,” mutters the female to the emptiness surrounding her. each syllable, each breath is whisked away by another whirling breeze. silence and loneliness curl around her, enveloping everything in a blanket of gloomy nothingness. she has become used to this. she hates thinking about it. two seconds and her phone is casting a glow to shine across her facial features, screen brightened and quickly filling with typed characters as miyoung’s fingers work hastily.
[ ✉ → maegan. ] stop getting all sentimental on me. i’m on my way.
another click and sent. she stands, lifting from the sidewalk, feet traveling routinely in the direction of her newly designated location. and, in all honesty, she has been wandering in the area for quite some time, back and forth listlessly, burdened with the contemplation of whether or not crashing at maegan’s place would fit into her laughable itinerary, which consists of merely surviving ninety-percent of the time. hence, there is not much distance between her chosen resting stop and her friend’s current residence. is that strange, she wonders.
although miyoung is usually one to wait, today, all her efforts seem to be linking up rather hurriedly. or, perhaps, the looseness and disorganization of her zooming thoughts breaks down her perception of time. the focus becomes arrival rather than tormenting recollections. she may be too hellbent on time because five minutes and her eyes take in familiarity.
or is it the distance? something is bothering her and she despises the act of having to ponder it. during the entire walk to maegan’s, she does not delve into thorough observation of her surroundings. a mistake, a liability when accompanied by the history of trouble that follows women who are said to be buried. she is distracted, moved forward like a pawn by customary procedure. step by step towards the studio apartment she has recently come to consider relatively similar to a home. temporary, but significant, nonetheless. “maegan!”
sucking in a deep breath, the woman reaches out to rap her knuckles against the door, light and swift. one, two, three. as easy as that. then, she listens closely for any noises of habitation inside, though she knows the girl is home, has already received confirmation of it. this has become routine, a tendency she has; staying alert, keeping an ear out for approaching noises.