Sunday, June 13, 2010

Murphy and Me XXIII

Whatever the hell that damned beeping was, someone needed to shut it off. As of yesterday, preferably.

The mattress rolled a little - and it was breathing, too. Smelled a lot like Murph, come to think of it.

The blaring ceased; a big hand traced up and down my spine. Murph shifted again, cheek pressed to the top of my head.

"Was that the alarm?" I asked what felt like his collarbone, eyes resolutely shut.

"Yup." He shifted again, rolling up on his side to curl around me. Something poked me in the chest. Further blind inspection produced Smokey and I finally cracked my eyelids apart.

Gray. Dark gray, more specifically. Stretched across a broad shoulder and wide chest. I'd never really taken the opportunity to look at Murph while suckered to his side; never really seen the way the clean line of his throat meets that of his jaw, and then further up, his nose. Straight and with the tiniest of knobs on the bridge. He's broken it before, probably.


I buried my nose in the dip of his collarbone with a grunt that sounded suspiciously like shuddup.

"Breakfast?" that you mention food.

"M'up." Not really, but I was workin' on it. I rubbed my forehead on his t-shirt and sat up, stretching. Scrubbed my eyes and looked down at Murph, half-asleep on his back, comforter rucked around his waist. I was trying to figure out the best way to get off the bed without moving him.

"You need help?" He looked at me through his bangs.

"Nah. Don't move." I freed my legs from the comforter and crawled over his waist. The drop off was a little bigger than I was used to - the dismount a little sloppy - but I wound up on two feet all the same. Steadiness was a different story.

Murphy rolled out right behind me, pressing a kiss to the back of my neck.

Devan snored blissfully on from the other side of the room.

I gathered my keys. "I need twenty minutes and I'll be back down."

Murph rubbed at what morning stubble (wasn't much) that he had and nodded. I don't think all his neurons were firing yet.

Then again, neither were mine since I nearly whacked myself in the face with the door on my way out.

"He's not a morning person," I said to Sasha around a spoonful of Half-Baked. "Makes breakfast conversation real interesting."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Neither of us talk."

I though she was going to choke on a fish-shaped piece of chocolate she was laughing so (unnecessarily) hard. I stabbed at a piece of brownie, cheeks flaming. I glanced at the TV - Tristan was dragging Yvaine by a magical chain, prattling about Victoria. "How's Cara?"

Sasha looked at her melting pint of ice cream. "She slept at Danielle's last night." She swallowed, blinking furiously. "She slept somewhere else."

Not with me, in our room, was the unspoken lament. Which was understandable. Sasha had put a lot of hard thought into even asking Cara to be roommates - which had involved copious amounts of Ben and Jerry's - and had taken a bit of convincing on my part to get her to that point. And she'd been so happy when Cara had said yes. Hell, I'd been happy for her, and the entire situation had threatened to give me cavities. Still, Sasha was my best friend. It wasn't in me to not be happy for her with something like this.

And it wasn't in my to watch her suffer over this, either.

"When was the last time you talked to her?"

Sasha shrugged. "A few days."

So, face-to-face was not....good. "Texts?"


This was not good on any level.

"I think you need to talk to her. In person. In your room." In case it goes bad, was unspoken between us. I fished in the semi-melted pint by my hip for a piece of cookie dough. "That's what I think you should do."

She looked at me, wide-eyes and wobbly mouth. "Can we watch RENT?" she whispered.

"Yeah. We can watch RENT." It would turn us into a total sobbing, soggy disaster. But I think we needed that.

It was a very good thing I'm not lactose intolerant otherwise I'm prety sure I'd have been dead the next morning. My stomach was a little off - too much, too late - but nothing overly ridiculous. Nothing that prevented me from rolling (literally) out of bed to go to the breakfast with Jo. Followed by a few moments on our way out to ogle Murph as he went into the dining hall, dressed in his suit jacket. Well, paused long enough to know they had a game today and get three nearly identical looks. One was slightly different in that it said it was alright to miss the game.

I knew that. Still.

Like I said before, neither of us carry grudges when it comes to games, and I knew that we were doing something tonight.

So it wasn't a big deal to spend my afternoon in the lounge doing homework. Not at all. I did send Murph a message telling him I was coming down at nine. And fielded messages from my sister - Izzy - about said boy.

He your boyfriend?

Yes. Snapped the phone shut and stuffed it in my back pocket. Looked through my closet. Couldn't make a decision to save my life.

When you gonna change your Crackbook status?

She would. She really would. When i talk to murph. I picked out a shirt and tossed it on the bed. Phone buzzed again.

Did you tell him your niece has a kitten named Murphy?

I blinked. Forgot about that completely. Eh. Well. Murph should get a kick out of it.

I think.

No comments:

"The difference between life and the movies is that a script has to make sense, and life doesn't."

-Joseph L. Mankiewicz