Crybaby | Michael Langdon

33 - Look what you made me do - 33

Michael was woken up with a start when he felt a weight jump on him. His eyes slammed open as he tensed, ready to kill his attacker, but he relaxed when he gazed into a pair of light brown eyes.

Marie was straddling him with a large grin. "You gotta get up, Mikey!"

He grumbled as he grabbed a spare pillow to hide his face. "Five minutes." He muttered, voice muffled by the material.

A few seconds passed, and he started to slowly drift away. Suddenly a finger poked his side, and he yelped as he shot up. He glared deeply at Marie, whom was too excited to care.

"Get up! It's barbecue day!" Marie ordered him with a grin, and his hazed brain took a few seconds to get what she was talking about.

Right, today was the day of Miriam Mead's execution.

He watched in amusement Marie jump from the bed to run towards her dresser -it used to be his- to rummage through it in search of a good outfit.

Her head poked out from behind the dresser door to look at Michael. "Sweetheart neckline or halter?" She asked him.

He rolled his eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm talking fashion, you peasant." Marie huffed as she quirked a brow in contempt before quickly disappearing again.

A soft laugh escaped his lips as he shook his head.

Too lazy to get out of bed, he remains under the covers, his gaze started to wander around the room. His room used to feel impersonal and cold, yet since he got back together with Marie she brought more and more stuff in his room as time passed. The walls that used to be bare were now covered in band posters and polaroid picture of them and the other witches. The shelves that contained his horror and mystery novels, neatly organized now were squished between messy romance and fantasy books with bent pages and missing covers.

There was even the entire twilight collection, and teasing her about it never gets old.

The difference in the organization of their respective beside tables amused him greatly. His was pretty simple and neat whereas hers was ridiculously packed to the point where something was always falling off of the table each night. There were a handcream tube, lip balm, essential oils she never used but kept anyway 'just in case', an empty bottle of water, a handful of hair ties...

He sighed through his nose when he saw a picture frame among the mess. It was the picture of Anne and Raphael from years ago. Marie's mother looked so young and full of life as she grinned at the camera, blue eyes sparkling and cheeks red. Raphael was looking at her, a soft smile playing at his lips, his tan skin even darker around his cheeks.

"Your mom must've been something to make an Archangel fall in love with her."

He heard Marie laugh softly. "She was an intense French woman with a bad temper, but yeah... She was amazing."

She emerged dressed in a long black dress with tight sleeves made of lace, she stood in front of the floor length mirror to tie her long hair in a sleek ponytail.

Her eyes locked on his through the mirror's reflection. "She hated our neighbors because their son played rap music loudly all day long, so one day she waited until it was very late at night to stick her speakers against the wall and blast Nirvana songs. They were so pissed the husband came to yell at us, but she just had to narrow her eyes at him and he was already running back with his tail between his legs."

Michael chuckled, and he lapsed in silence as he watched her fiddle with her earrings, but her sad eyes were looking in the distance.

She took a deep breath and plastered a smile on her face as she whirled around with her hands on her hips. "Mikey, move your lazy ass. We've got a bitch to burn."