I want to put a disclaimer to PLEASE DO NOT BECOME ADDICTED TO SLEEP DEPRIVATION LIKE DESCRIBED IN THIS/FUTURE CHAPTERS!!
I am NOT trying to glamorize sleep deprivation. I am currently struggling really bad with an addiction with sleep deprivation (as silly as it sounds), so please don't do it.
I think this is the last filler until I write what I've been planning out for a bit.
Unedited.
Casey
I think things are getting better.
I mean, I'm not sleeping at all but I'm always feeling bubbly and hyper. I'm socializing more with friends and am a delight to be around. I'm not sure what's happening, but I think I'm running off the highs of sleep deprivation.
Oh well, at least I'm happier.
My eyes remain glued to Westley, no matter how hard I try looking away. Maybe it's because I don't want to look away. I could stare at his adorable face for hours. So many of his features I haven't noticed before come out from observing him.
I notice the faint freckles peppered across his cheeks. I notice the way his nose wrinkles when an odd or confusing scene comes on. I notice that when he smiles or laughs, his eyes almost disappear and his cheeks fullen. Oh, how precious he is.
Suddenly, the boys gaze switches to me. I take a moment to admire his eyes. Oh, how magic they seem. So much life and wonder lie behind those baby blues. He squints at me, his nose wrinkling during the action. I hold back a smile. "What's wrong?"
"Oh, nothing. I spaced out or something."
"Oh, okay." Phew, that was close. "Do you like this movie? We can change it if you don't."
I forgot what was happening in the movie. It's some Christmas movie he watched numerous times as a kid, and he insisted I watch it with him. It's cute, but Westley is cuter. Trying not to scowl at my cheesy thoughts, I reply. "No, I like it."
Westley smiles before looking back at the movie.
As the movie goes on, I feel as if Westley and I are magents. Our bodies scoot closer towards each other, begging to touch. Oh, how I want to touch him. Not sexually, just in any way possible. I don't care if it's our knees touching for a split second, I want to touch him.
Suddenly, our hands touch. I almost jerk mine away, but once I realize Westley isn't moving his, I leave it.
Slowly, our fingers slide into each other, intertwining. There's not enough words in the world to explain the butterflies in my stomach. Butterflies. I have actual fucking butterflies gliding through my guts. I thought that only existed in stupid movies or romance novels my sister tells me about.
My thumb glides across his knuckles, rubbing his skin. Peace flows through my body as I hold his gentle hand. I glance at Westley, who is too busy looking at the movie. However, a pink tint cast over his cheeks, darkening by the second.
I like touching Westley. Feeling our skin touch makes me feel...weird, but in a good way. Gosh, what is this boy doing to me? Why do I keep feeling this way? Maybe I should listen to my sister and try figuring out my feelings.
"Someone's calling you."
What? It's Saturday afternoon, who's calling me? Maybe it's my sister or my mom? What if it's my dad? I'm kidding; my dad would never call me first. "Who?"
