Fight From the Inside

9 | In Your Heart I Want to Stay

Hey guys! I'm posting chapters 8 and 9 back to back to reward you for waiting so long! My phone is finally fixed and I'm super excited to post these two chapters, so make sure you check out both. Enjoy!

Dreams. Roger. Blackness. Red. Roger. The taste of vodka on her tongue. Sleep. She craved more sleep.

Tap tap tap.

She frowned, eyes still glued shut by the remnants of salty tears. She rubbed them, confused. Had she heard something?

Tap tap tap tap.

She pried her eyelids open, only to cover her face with her sheets. Memories of last night came flooding back, threatening to breach the levy that was her eyes. How could he leave her alone like that?

Tap tap.

She extended one arm from underneath her blankets, scratching at the sheets. The cat heard her call from across the flat and jumped on the bed, gleefully accepting his invitation to be scratched between his shoulder blades.

Pound. Pound.

What the fuck was that noise? She pulled the blankets off of her and started rooting around on the ground for clothes. The yellow bicycle shorts. The oversized Beatles shirt. She slipped both on, attempting to run a hand through her dark hair but her fingers were caught in the tangled mess.

BANG. BANG.

Who the fuck was at the door?

She padded quietly across her flat, eyes darting to the clock on the wall as she wondered who the hell would be bothering her at... 8:13 am? What the hell?

Shit. Was it Roger?

She immediately stopped in her tracks, going into stealth mode as she proceeded on her tip-toes to avoid all the spots on the carpeted floor that aggressively creaked when stepped on. She braced herself against the door jamb and tried to peer through the dusty peep hole in the door.

BANG BANG BANG BANG

She lost her footing after she was startled by the enthusiastic knocking, falling onto the floor with an alarming lack of grace. She scraped her elbow across the scratchy carpet, trying to save herself from falling completely on her ass. The skin on her arm screamed, letting her know she tried and she failed. She inspected the blooms of blood droplets forming at the injury site, wincing as she tried to manipulate the wound for better inspection.

"Mads? Was that you? It's Stella, you clumsy fuck, let me in. We need to talk."

Releasing a sigh full of relief of a lack of a particular Roger, but also laced with annoyance at her best friend for bothering her at such an unlivable hour of the morning, she pulled herself off the floor with the aid of the back of the couch.

She unlocked the door and swung it open, the doorknob smacking the wall as it swung on its hinge. Stella looked almost as worse for wear as she did, matted blonde hairspray hair piled high into a messy bun, Rolling Stones t-shirt riddled with cigarette holes, satin boxing trunks adorning her legs. Madeline smiled. Leave it to Stella to make sure she wasn't alone in her post-party suffering.

Stella pulled two cigarettes out of her purse and extended one to Madeline.

"Let's go, Mads. It's time for stoop talk."

-

They sat on the stoop, sunglasses adorning their hungover heads, shakily smoking in the annoyingly clear morning sunshine. For a while, they sat in silence; Madeline would occasionally check the wound on her elbow while Stella inspected mysterious bruises up and down her shins after telling young men passing by to fuck off for staring at the pair of them with a mix of morbid curiosity and attraction. They weren't in the mood for anyone's company but the company of one another.