why do you only call me when you're high? //kth

13• monday

The school week started no different than any other. With a dull, grey, clouded sky and my loud alarm tearing me out of yet another dreamless night. Mondays were always the worst.

I had Maths and Biology on Mondays aka the subjects of what my nightmares were made of.

I forced my eyes open and my butt out of my oh so comfy and warm bed to get dressed and be on time for once. As soon as I switched the bathroom lights on and stared at my sleep deprived reflection in the mirror, toothbrush in mouth and comb stuck in my hair, I sighed at the bags under my eyes and splashed my face with cold water.

Something about my appearance seemed off. -what was that on my neck? I brought a finger up to my neck and carefully traced along the weird purple mark just above my collar bone. I winced at the slight pain.

Stepping closer to the mirror, I soon realized that the reason my neck looked so weird was because old concealer was smeared all over it and my hickeys were starting to make an appearance again. Fuck! The hickeys! I had completely forgotten about them, goddamn.

I grabbed a couple of makeup wipes and took off all the makeup that was left on my neck. Once it was all gone and I realized just how bad the bruises looked, I let out a small gasp. I didn't recall letting Taehyung give me that many.

Before, I had never been much of a hickey receiving or giving kind of girl. I even used to make fun of teens running around with obvious ones on their necks, wondering whether people were dumb or just attention seekers to walk around like that. And now, look at me. Neck covered in shades of deep pink and dark purple all because of a boy. A boy I didn't even really know.

I kept running my fingers over the war zone that was my neck. I couldn't deny that it had felt good. Amazingly good. Taehyung had done it better and more sensual than any guy I had ever been with. Suddenly, I saw him before my eyes again, sucking and then gently blowing kisses onto my neck, whispering and groaning into my ear. Damn it. I needed to stop thinking about him. Those lips..

Oh god- the green sticky note. Shit! Where had I put it again?

I found the pair of jeans I had carelessly thrown onto a chair and dived my hand into the back pockets, sure enough the note stuck to my fingers and I was met with the same messy scribbling of a phone number. Nothing else. Just his phone number.

Like the first time I had found it, my eyes were glued to the note once again. I stood there, frozen to the spot, only half dressed and still with a comb stuck in my hair.

I needed to call him. Not now, maybe not even today or tomorrow but I needed to call him. I needed some sort of closure. The last two hookups, the fact we stumbled into each other were coincidences, what if we never ran into each other again? I would forever think back to this damn note and wonder what would've happened had I called him.