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Today I am a pathological liar.
Paintballs?” Sweet baby Jesus, no.
“Mini Cooper, early 1980s. Kermit green.
Not surprised
The investigators will see my fishnets and heavy eye makeup and assume I’m a hooker.
Then he presses his mouth lightly against mine.
omfg finally
Top notes of mint, bitter coffee, and cotton. Mid notes of black pepper and pine. Base notes of leather and cedar. Luxurious as cashmere. If this is what his car smells like, imagine his bed. Good idea. Imagine his bed.
He frowns, pauses, then twists my closest earring carefully back into position.
“You don’t take compliments well.” “I don’t get many.” It’s the honest truth. He just laughs. “Oh, sure.” “It’s true. Unless it’s my mom and dad on Skype.” “Well, I’ll have to change that. So. Tell me all about you.”
“You look fine.” It’s the nicest thing he’s ever said to me.
I call Helene in the morning to say I’m not hungover but I’m having a few personal issues and I’ll be in a little late. She is kind and tells me to rest and take the day off.
I need a joshua pov rn
A huge bouquet of lipstick-red roses. I pinch open the little envelope and the card says three whole words. You’re always beautiful.
I hope when she dies she bequeaths her wardrobe to me.
She’s turned into my therapist.
Literally
“You prize your reputation of being likable and approachable,” she supplies.
The look I was trying to emulate was Kate Moss at a music festival.
Elbows are not erogenous. At least, I didn’t think they were.
“Were your parents in the military?” It would explain a lot. The rigid behaviors, the brisk, impersonal manner. Addiction to rules and sequences. His neatness and economy in everything he does. He’s now got a lack of friends and the inability to connect. I bet his parents had frequent foreign postings. He bounces a quarter off his perfectly made bed.
True
We’re all in it together.
HSM??
The trip home is pretty bad. I’m trapped in an endless, unmarked period of time. I’m a bug in a jar being shaken by a kid. The bus is swaying, hot, airless, and I feel every bump and curve. I focus on my breathing and the feeling of Joshua’s arm pressed against mine. At one particularly sharp corner he uses his shoulder to support me upright in my seat.
Real
“Now. Are you gonna be sick in the car, Shortcake?” He doesn’t sound impatient, or annoyed. He opens my window a few inches.
I keep my eyes closed, and count my breaths, and do not vomit. It is quite an achievement.
An indication I must be near death is I can’t be bothered to condition.
Literally
I’m wrapped in him, safe from anything the world wants to throw at me. Anything painful or cruel will have to get through him before it has any chance of touching me.
I’m vomiting. Joshua Templeman is holding a large Tupperware container under my face—the one I usually carry cakes to work in. I can smell the sweet-plastic residue of icing and eggs. I throw up more. His wrist is holding up my limp head, my hair gathered in his fist.
Awwww he takes care of her so well
“Shh,” he replies and I fall asleep, shuddering and gasping, while he wipes my face with something cold and damp.
She REALLY needs to goto the doctor
If only I could hold on to this moment. I already feel the sadness that will hollow me out when it ends.
“Let’s be just like them when we grow up, Josh. We could start a new game. Imagine. We could play games forever.” “Let’s talk about it when you’re not crazy with fever.”
Yeah bc wtf?
“It’s such a cute thing about you.” The word cute lights up like neon in my dim bedroom and I’m so rattled I begin babbling.
Why is giving judy hopps and nick
want to be asleep, that lovely dark place where these anxieties and sadness can’t follow me.
It’s worse than waking up after a nude karaoke performance at the office Christmas party.
Wtf
There’s patience and kindness beneath his asshole façade. Human decency. Humor. That smile.
and I realize he’s spent the entire night dressed in his paintball clothes. And he doesn’t even stink. How is it fair?
“I only sent you those fucking roses because you looked so cut-up after our fight. This is why I don’t do nice things for people.”
Omg..
“Because my parents and brother are doctors. It’s his way of reminding me I’ve failed to reach my potential.”
Wow so nice
I notice for the first time he has those muscly-guy raised veins in his inner arms.
“Apology accepted. But you can’t expect me to be a nice guy when another man walks you into the office, and kisses you and gives you flowers. It’s not the way this game works between you and me.”
“The Or Something Game doesn’t resume until you tell me that no one kisses you like I do.”
“Don’t say that. I’d like to kiss you. Please,” he adds courteously.
Ew i hate when guys say that
It was like kissing a cousin. All wrong.
Wtf
I still can’t reconcile it. They were from Joshua Templeman. He walked into a florist, of his own volition, and wrote three words on a card that changed the state of play.
Maybe he’s never hated me. Maybe he’s always wanted me.
YES LITERALLY GIRL!
His smile is worth a thousand of anyone else’s. I need a photograph. I need something to hold on to. I need this entire bizarre planet to stop spinning so I can freeze this moment in time.
“He’s not enough for you.” “I have no idea why I’m even here.” “You do know.” He presses a kiss to my cheekbone, and I rise to my tiptoes, shivering. “You’re here to tell me the truth. Once you stop being a little liar.” He’s right, of course. He’s always right. “No one can kiss me like you do.”
My heart is glowing in my chest like a bulb,
JTV?
I picture him on a date with someone else, and a punch of jealousy gets me right in the gut.
It’s masculine and dark, lusciously warm, all the walls painted in chocolates and sand. There’s a zingy scent of orange. A big squashy couch sits center stage in front of every male’s prerequisite giant flat screen, which he hadn’t even turned off.
my Post-it note with the kiss on it stuck to the fridge and point at it.
My chest is tight with anxiety.
The art of holding hands is underrated
