—— july 12, 2001.
+ @ezrpierce
❛ fine, fine— just one more. i mean it this time.
of course, however, that was almost exactly what she’d said about her last drink. and the one before that, and the one before that, & she was now, somehow, on her fourth bottle of mike’s hard lemonade. her dour expression didn’t last long, much like the promises she’d made herself, as she finally gave way to a playful smile – they both knew it wasn’t true. because the sooner they stopped drinking meant the sooner the night would be over, and the sooner they’d be back in the hotel: sharing a bed, yet sharing the room with her sister. the thought of how many she’d consumed so far brought her palms to her stomach, beneath her t-shirt to touch bare skin, the heels of her hands pressing into her hipbones. she freed one to reach for the opened bottle ezra now offered, breath letting out.
everything felt bloated: the sky, the very stars in it, the waves she could hear but not see, the air against her skin. she tilted the bottle back for a long swig; eyes closed and the world swayed with her. though stevie wasn’t sure just how inebriated she was right then, seeing as she’d yet to stand up since they’d climbed up onto the lifeguard tower, she felt acutely aware of every passing second & sensation – each moment distended, allowing her to perceive them all. she felt the stars, not far away and separated by vast open space, but right there in her mouth, right there in the lifeguard tower, metal slick with condensation. the night felt damp against her skin, air thick with humidity and clinging to her; briny against her lips and within her hair, between her bare toes. the ocean, black and endless, white foam illuminated by moonlight, undulating out like it wanted to touch her.
she wanted to be touched. her gaze turned to ezra, watching him watching her, then watching him watching the ocean. a part of her wanted to crawl over to him, away from her spot leaning against the railing (which had begun to dig into her back, but… whatever), and a part of her didn’t want to move – didn’t want to disturb the pristine, unaffected silence. to move would be to break it all, like thin glass settled over the environment. stevie stared at him, wishing, for a moment, that she’d brought something to paint with. she wanted to capture how perfect he was right then: all disheveled, hair mussed by the sea breeze, the skin of his throat taut as he swallowed the last of his drink, lips swollen and red from her own. perfect and pristine and hers, hers, hers.
her legs uncrossed to stretch out to him, though he was too far to reach— which, unfortunately enough, prompted stevie to speak at last. her laugh happened first, voice following after and entangling in its residual tone.
❛ pay attention to me. whenever you ignore me, i stop existing, y’know. i need you to look at me so i feel real.