💦🚫|| September 8th, 1990||🚫💦
It had been a few days since the blow up with Marshall, and I was getting annoyed that we couldn't just sit down and talk about it, we were just waiting it out and not even speaking. I wanted to talk to him about the whole situation, but I knew that because our opinions were so different that we would have to come to an agreement somehow.
Surprisingly, I was giving a lot of thought into our argument, and decided I would be the one to make the first move.
As I sat down on the couch, I slid my phone out of my pocket to text him.
Me: can we talk?
After that was sent, I turned the TV on and waited for a reply that I knew wouldn't take long to be received.
My mom was out with some friends for the night and I was home alone. It was around eight o'clock at night, so I knew she still had a few hours until she returned home. Debbie's car wasn't in front of Marshall's trailer, either, so I presumed she was out as well.
No more than ten minutes later, my phone buzzed on my lap as it indicated a text from Marshall.
Marshall: you wanna come over here? my mom ain't home
Me: I'll be over in a second
I sat up from the couch, turned the TV off, and slid on my Chuck Taylor's without tying them. Before I went outside, I went back to my room and threw on a hoodie. It was September, and started getting colder at night. Being that I was wearing a tight tank top and sweatpants, I knew I needed another layer of clothing, even if I was just walking to Marshall's trailer that was no more than twenty yards away from my porch.
I walked quickly, shuttering at the wind that was hitting my face. Hurriedly, I just walked right in.
"In here!" I heard Marshall call out from his bedroom.
I chucked my shoes to the side and made my way down the hall that led me to his bedroom. He was laying on his bed while fumbling with a Rubiks Cube. I sat down on the edge of his bed and smiled nervously at him as he placed the toy on his bedside table.
"Hey," he uttered.
"Hey," I echoed.
"What's up?" he asked awkwardly.
I shrugged. "Nothing."
It was silent for almost thirty seconds and I just looked around his room because I didn't want to look at him. It felt weird getting into a fight with him and then stop talking for a few days. It wasn't like us.
"Okay," he broke the silence. "I'm sorry about everything I said the other day. I was just angry, I didn't mean any of it."
"I'm sorry, too," I sighed and rolled over next to him on his bed. I leaned against his head board as he himself scooted up to sit beside me. "I know I took it a little too far," I confessed.
"Nah, it was me," he said. "I shouldn't have brought D'Angelo up and I'm sorry I snapped at you like that."
"It's okay," I assured him with a grateful smile.
He smiled back and pulled me to straddle his lap. I wrapped my arms around his neck and his arms hung loosely on my waist. "I missed you," he admitted.
"I surprisingly missed you too," I jested.
"Surprisingly?" he repeated with an amused smirk. "Bitch, the fuck you talking about, you was probably going nuts."
