Muse

Chapter Thirteen

The annoying ringing of my alarm blares through my room, I roll over to try and find the snooze button but my attempts are not successful, now I have to get up.

Sleep didn't come until two am and I'm completely exhausted. Tossing and turning all night was miserable, I eventually got up to find some sort of sleeping pill but we didn't have any.

All I could think about was Harry and Carson. They're both so different, yet exactly the same. I'm not sure why I care to even think about them but I do.

Admitting to myself that I have a thing for Harry is somewhat pointless. He has told me before how he feels about me but he also gives me signals that are complete opposite of what he says. I'm not hoping for a relationship with him, but I do want to know him and I want him to want to get to know me.

Feeling Carson's body pressed against mine yesterday was different than how I've felt Harry before. A fire wasn't ignited, an uncontrollable lust didn't consume me but I did find myself attracted to him. He seems to be nice, a player but nice. I only met him a couple of days ago and the first impression I had was fuck boy, I still have that impression and I'm sure it won't change but what if he is different.

Harry's different. He's not a fuck boy, he doesn't seem to sleep around every day just on occasion, he just changes the way he acts when he's around his friends. I'm not sure which quality I hate more, being two-faced or being a fuck boy.

It's not like I have to pick between them, it's just that I can't get either of them out of my head. If it does come down to it, maybe one day, I feel as if I would pick Harry, the chemistry between us too strong to deny.

Somehow I pushed the endless thoughts away and got a few hours of sleep, but now here we are and I feel like I'll fall over if I even try to get up.

My blankets incase me in a warm cocoon and I wish to never leave. I finally, unwilling unravel myself from my blanket burrito and climb off the bed.

Last nights clothes are thrown on the floor making my room look like a disaster. Before I bother to get ready I make the bed and put my dirty clothes into the laundry hamper. I line the gray decorative pillows across my bed and brush the white comforter free of wrinkles.

Satisfied with my now clean room I head over to the closet and find something to wear.

Instead of combing my hair today I quickly braid it back, not caring to put much effort into my appearance.

Psychology of play is my first class this morning and I just hope it's not too boring that I fall asleep.

Barely able to stay awake I search through the fridge for some breakfast. Liz walks out of her room, her hair piled on the top of her head in a bun.

"Good morning." She smiles, rubbing her eyes.

"Morning." I hum, "When's your first class today?"

"Not until noon." A big sigh escapes her lips and I know she feels the same way as me about mornings.

"So why are you already awake, it's just a little after eight." I laugh.

"Seriously? I thought it was like eleven. Dammit. I'm going back to bed." She says and walks back into her room closing her door.

I laugh quietly to myself, I should probably get going, class starts at nine.

The walk is further than I anticipated so I'm glad I left somewhat early.

When I finally get there I take a seat in the very back, everyone seems to be a fan of the front seats in this class. I don't know anyone, but I didn't really expect to either. The professor introduces herself and talks about the course. It goes on for about an hour and forty five minutes and we're all excused.