Emergency Medical Dad

XLII: past, january

this one has music enjoy

also i blew the circuit in my dorm room (not the overhead lights but most of the other ones) so i rlly hope they fix it before my alarms have to go off tomorrow lmao

PAST - JESSIE

I was obsessed with the way that the smoke curled out of Jorgen Hadley's lips when he was laying on his back. I was obsessed with the way that it flowed out slowly, falling in a haze around his head until a breeze came along to brush it away from his curls.

I was obsessed with the way that he curled a hand into my hair and pulled me down every other hit to take it off of him, to push the smoke into my lips, to get me high.

I was obsessed with the feeling, the high of him, the high of the drug, the high of what I was doing.

Those days, I was almost more obsessed with the way he ground the dead end into the cement with the heel of his hand and then pressed me down to the deck, kissing me high and soft and dumb until he wanted to stop, then taking me inside and kissing me until I got fed up with it in any room but my room.

I was obsessed with the look on his face when he's stunned, obsessed with how he reacts to touches, obsessed with the soft noise that escapes his throat whenever anything happens.

But what I'd come to like most, out of everything about him, was when he was calm and sated and coming down off a high, laid out naked beside me in bed, stupid teenage brain telling me dumb shit he did that weekend, maybe not even talking at all.

That day was different.

I don't know what about it was. What at all made him say what he did.

"I don't like the way you're staring at me," he commented, tugging on my hair, half a smile on his face.

"What do you mean?"

"You're staring at me like you want me, really truly actually want me."

"What if I do?"

"You shouldn't," he let out a short laugh.

"But what if I do?"

"It's not a good idea."

"What about it is bad?"

"Me," he sighed out, chest moving under his tattoos, "me and you, actually. I wouldn't be mad if I were Evan, in fact I think that's half decent. But me? Me and Jessie Kingston? It's just dumb, honest."

"How is it dumb?"

"I'm a wreck, Jay."

"And I'm a wreck too, we're just messy in different ways," I traced my fingers up his stomach. "So what you're a wreck on the outside and I'm a wreck on the inside, we're a half decent fit. I like you."

"You like my dick," he offered. "You like my tattoos. You like the way I look, the way I talk to you, the weed. You don't like me."

I sighed and threw my leg over his hips, only the sheet and his hoodie on my shoulders between us. "I do like your... you know, and I do like the way you look, and I like the way you talk to me and I'm okay with the weed, what's so bad if I like you too?"

He shrugged, tugging on the fabric of the hoodie absently, "you just can't."

"Can't?"

"Yeah, can't."

"Can't why?"

"Because I can have sex with you," he looked up at me. "I can fuck you in my hoodie and I can get you high and I can make you scream into my hand and come on my fingers and I can scare people away from you on the subway and the bus and I can kiss you in alleyways hiding from your parents but I'm not right for you."