DIRT: the grunge diaries (𝒱𝒾𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝒶'𝓈 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃)

entry #36 - big, big ... love, confusion

⚠️ mentions of sex. drugs/drug use ⚠️

1992/10/09
Oakland, California
فيكتوريا

I am awoken by a pale, autumn ray of light penetrating through the curtains. I yawn and I mumble, because we should've fully shut 'em curtains before getting in bed, last night, but we didn't. If we did, I would've probably slept more than just two hours and a half, but I won't complain. Getting hit in the eyes with a ray of sunshine as a good morning claim is my cuppa... waking up with my head on the chest of my lover of last night, my arms around him like I'm trying to pull him closer to me so that he doesn't go anywhere is definitely the sweetest thing there is. He's laying there, under me, awake... still, motionless, calm, and his hands are gently rubbing my back from under the cozy blanket thrown on our bodies. Cheers to many more mornings like this. And to many more nights like the last one.

'Good morning...'. I whimper, my head purring against his chest, as I pull the lovesick feline on him like I did last night. He doesn't bother, he lets me do the thing, and just rubs my thigh, the one loaded right above his lap with it. I fell asleep on him like a lovestruck baby, and we haven't moved a bit, all through the night. This feels like a dream, but I'm awake, almost painfully awake. Like David Coverdale would say... is this love, or am I dreaming? This must be love, cause it's really got a hold on me.

And I've really got a hold over loverboy, at the moment. A literal, physical one. My arms are around him, tight and needy. My leg is thrown over his lap. When he realises I'm awake, he begins to brush back my hair and leave a dozen, maybe even more kisses on my head. I might've slept on my feelings for him, like literally ... but I can't easily forget how good he is to me. How good he makes me feel, and how fucking lucky I am, to be the woman in his bed this morning.

'Good morning indeed, pretty baby. Slept well?' He ask, a sleep drunk slur in his voice as he smooches my lips good morning. Good fucking morning to you as well, my precious lover. Stop calling me pretty baby, especially when my heart rate is resting and my eyelids are still heavy, or I'm gonna scream I love you from the top of my lungs before you can even realise it.

I shyly rub his hair, and except that ... I don't move a thumb, because my body feels pretty heavy this morning. I'm so tired, so wiped out, so hungover that it'll be a miracle if I manage to function properly today. But I gotta do it. I gotta function properly because I've got a long day and a long road trip ahead ... and my first task will be to find my cockatiel. I've lost track of him more or less around the time I left him under the tutorship of Sean's drum tech, and a part of me wants to believe that the guy's still taking care of him.

I've only slept two hours and a half, probably even less than that, and getting cradled into the arms of Morpheus was no easy task. I had it quite rough last night, I wish I would've slept on my hangover until later, this morning... but no way. The sunshine peeking through the curtains said no, and I shall oblige. This means I will take a much deserved nap on the tour bus, later today, 'cause we're heading to Denver and I've got no physical strength to ride a solid 1200 miles, not even if we pit stop frequently along the way. This means I'll most likely fall asleep on Sean for the ... fourth time since I've known him. I fucked him one time, feel asleep on him thrice, looking forward to making it four times later today. Not very dirty dirty, horny horny Seattle couple-like of us, but what d'ya wanna do, that's just the way we are.

'Yes ... but do you still remember my name?' I tease him, because acting like I think I'm just a postmark to him while he's being an absolute treasure to me is seemingly my new hobby. And I can't help it. His arms are around me and his lips are on mine. His fingers are sweetly rubbing the corner of my mouth as we exchange a proper, good fucking morning kiss.
And I keep being a teasing ass to him. He keeps confusing me, treating me like I'm the one, when I clearly ain't, and I want to stay real humble about it, in the desperate hope not to catch feelings for him. The cynical part of me would just like to hear him saying that he remembers my name, but that this wholesome bonanza doesn't mean that we've got a soft spot for eachother. That's it's just an infatuation like another one, and we will move on with someone else tomorrow. And I really, really hope he brings this up to me just in time before I fall for him once and for all. And I don't get back up ever again. That'd be fucking scary, and I would be the one taking the worst end of the situation.