𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍 彡 [e. munson] [✔]

─ 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞.

*ೃ༄𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐄𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒

Laying down on her back atop her bed, Magdalena May was bored to tears. With her favorite book laying flat on her bedside table, the brunette stayed in her position with her eyes closed, attempting to be eased and tempted into taking a sneaky midday nap. Her copy of Valley of the Dolls was still silently begging to be picked back up and finished for the thousandth time. Magdalena fought back to hold in a groan and turned it into a minimal exhale instead. The gorgeous singing of birds filtered through her open bedroom window along with a few streaks of golden sun rays that painted the exposed skin of her silky thighs—for once being free of long skirts and instead barely covered by a pair of pajama shorts while her upper half was hidden behind the cotton fabric of her dark pullover, the hoodie stretched over her head to hide her from the outside world. Granted, her bedroom door had already been doing that for a couple of hours, but Magdalena was in the mood to hide away a little bit more today.

She couldn't explain it for the life of her. Maybe it was the fact that her dad wouldn't be home until around the crack of dawn. The girl felt like she didn't know what to do with herself in the moment. Calling her friend was always an option, but getting up from her cozy mattress seemed like a challenging and incredibly exasperating task. Magdalena unexpectedly rolled onto her stomach, stretching like how a cat most likely would—not that she had any experience in the matter since she'd never owned a cat. The muffled slam of a car door disturbed Magdalena's thoughts so much so that she cracked open one of her eyes partially, wondering if her dad came home earlier than expected—but ultimately wondering how she didn't hear the telltale audible influx of his rundown motor. Or any motor at all.

Still, her motivation to get up and investigate was simply not there. Instead, she put one of her hands under her pillow and pulled it even closer to her head, as if that was even physically possible. Shoving her face into the velvety material completely was Magdalena's final and very futile attempt to escape the world. She didn't need a pliable reason to escape other than the fact that she was so mentally drained. She felt like she was going in circles and couldn't get herself out of those stupid imaginary circles that represented her mediocre life in the most mediocre town in history. Through all that wallowing in self-pity, Magdalena failed to realize that a familiar someone had entered her house silent as a mouse and was now leisurely, yet inaudibly opening her bedroom door, making sure to look inside first to assess the situation.

"Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes, doll."

Magdalena's eyes snapped open almost immediately. She knew that deep, rumbling voice. She was eternally infatuated with that voice and couldn't find herself living without it. Still, the brunette didn't bother to stand from her bed and greet her dear boyfriend. Her hand—the one that wasn't under the pillow—raised partly, index finger beckoning him to silently come closer because she wouldn't be getting up any time soon. Heavy footsteps made their way across the room in less than a second. He would comply with any and all of her wishes without much hesitation. That's how far Billy Hargrove had fallen into this cavern of infinite devotion that Magdalena involuntarily created for him.