Eyes Bright, Uptight {EDITING}

//I tell my love to wreck it all; cut out all the ropes and let me fall//

{Please listen to "Me" by your favorite band The 1975, and "Skinny Love" by Bon Iver. Also enjoy this picture of George's crazy hair.  I still am recovering from heartbreak as to what Matthew has decided to do to his hair.}

{Claire's POV}

Claire: I'm sorry George.

The letters technically formed an apology via text message, but I still couldn't process them. They weren't good enough; I felt completely awful. The 1975 had played their first big show in my hometown, and I had missed it because I was more concered with how I felt about the two than how they felt about me.

Spring break would be over in two weeks, and I'd be back in London. I didn't exactly know how I felt about that either. George's birthday was in four days, and I had given him nothing so far other than disappointment when I chickened out of going to his concnert.

I wondered what the boys were doing in this very moment. Adam was likely glued to his phone: either having a serious conversation with his manager or an intimiate conversation with Chelsea, all the white half-assedly sight seeing with Ross. Ross was probably doing press-ups and gorging himself on some California health food. Matty was likely moping around his hotel room, taking lines of coke like clockwork, spun out of control. George was probably sleeping, still.

It was the next morning, and I was having coffee with my mother. Dad was gone golfing.

Mom was on her second cup, and I was on my third; my thoughts had caffeinated my brain and body all too well last night. She was already dressed for the day, like she always did. My mother still had the same morning routine she'd had since I could remember.

She'd wake up, immediately shower and do her hair and makeup. If it was a weekday, she'd wear skirts and light jackets, sometimes dress pants and cute tops. If I was the weekend, she'd wear something cute and relatively hip. She was approaching approaching 50, but the wrinkles on her face were minimal and her frequent visits to the gym had kept her body bangin'.

Candace McDaniel was still a drime, most definitely in my father's eyes. Right now she was wearing a cute pair of jeans and floral, spaghetti-strapped top with a denim vest.

My denim vest.

I scrunched my face up in disapproval. "Mother, is that my vest?"

Her lips pursed around her coffee cup. "Is this my house?"

Touche.

I swirled my spoon around in my coffee aimlessly, the white of the creamer blending in tiny dances with the black of the coffee, and then forming the delicious concoction. Mom was standing on the opposte side of the bar, and I was layed out on a stool, my legs shot across another.

"How was the concert last night?" my Mom asked me, her hazel eyes bright.

"Oh," I shrugged. "It was good. Great. I'm so proud of Georgie."

Our house was three stories and had thick walls, my bedroom being on the third floor and essentially my own wing of the home. I was almost certain my mother wouldn't know that I hadn't gone anywhere.

"Were there lots of people?" she asked, finishing up her coffee.

I nodded. "Mmm-hmm. Packed."

I conentrated on my phone, only to find that George still hadn't texted me back.

My mother narrowed her perfectly arched brows. She was the one who had taught me the importance of eyebrow shaping and maintenace.

"That's awfully funny how you went to a concert, since I heard Gilmore Girls playing when I snuck up to your room," she admitted.