It occurs to you, on hour five of no sleep, that vintage Chanel handbags with the cute chain handle are more expensive than you originally thought. Not only that, but you can't seem to find one on the site that fits the one in your head. You'd seen it in an old paparazzi photo of Ariana Grande a couple years ago, and always liked it, but you think that maybe it was discontinued or custom made.
Maybe you should ask for something else.
Exhaling long and hard through your nose you keep scrolling endlessly through your Instagram feed despite the fact that your eyes feel like they've dried out a long time ago. No matter what you do you can't sleep, even in a nice bed like this and even laying next to N'Jadaka, who radiates so much heat it'd be unbearable if he didn't have his A/C cranked so high.
All you see when you close your eyes is the faceless man. You shouldn't have looked, because there's only one way a person looks after having a full clip unloaded into their goddamn skull, but it was almost impossible not to. The past few hours you've been alternating between being angry at what happened to you and being angry at N'Jadaka for losing his cool like that. It, in some morbid way, lets you know that being in danger sent him into a fury at the very least but it doesn't lessen the effect.
It was sloppy, you think, and you wonder if he's ever gotten emotional in a fight like that before with that crazy look in his eyes.
You think he's awake, because he keeps moving in regular intervals, but he hasn't said anything or touched you. He's giving you space, and you don't know if you appreciate it or not. Your mind is jumbled and fuzzy, but he says you'll get over it soon enough.
At some point during a stupid meme video your eyes tell you to fuck off and you blink, so hard they water. The high has worn off and now you're faced with the reality of everything that happened today. Your poor car, shot full of holes and totaled because N'Jadaka is a speed demon, gone. He'd had the decency to have one of his boys get your stuff out of it afterwards, but you still feel some type of way because it was the first thing you ever got in your name. The insurance payout isn't going to be great, but you can't find it in you to dwell too much on it.
Besides, he very much implied he'd take care of a new vehicle for you. And you very much implied you don't want a dumb, ritzy show car. The doors that open in weird ways, loud ass tires-it's not your gig.
You're sure he won't pay you any attention when it comes to your car preference.
Outside, you can hear birds start to chirp and you groan into the pillows below you. It must be a little too loudly, because N'Jadaka tells you to 'shut up' from somewhere behind you.
"Don't tell me to shut up," you mumble, rubbing at your eyes.
"Then, shut up."
His voice sounds heavy with sleep, and you're jealous because you'd give anything to be able to do the same tonight. Or rather, morning. You have nothing to do, having watched a million youtube videos and binged several hours of Daria episodes in a row that only stopped once your phone started to get hot enough it scared you. Ontop of that, your stitches are throbbing and they itch.
You'd chanced looking at them earlier and they look perfect, as perfect as they'd look if you were forced to do a bunch of paperwork and pay asinine hospital fees.
"Can you stay up with me?" you ask rather pitifully, rolling over to face him. You're sure you look like a zombie in the eyes at this point and thank God for concealer.
But he's already asleep again, and you see no point in being in bed. For a second earlier you'd considered sex but quickly decided against it on the grounds it just felt wrong. Maybe he thought so too, because you're wearing his tee shirt and nothing else and he hadn't even made some snide comment about your body.
