Falling ♡ Timothée Chalamet

23 - please

The music blaring in my ears calms my nerves down as I sit in period one, physics class. Timothée drove me to school today, but he was an exhausted mess on the ride here and if I hadn't turned the radio on he probably would have fallen asleep in the middle of the highway and killed the two of us.

Usually I'll listen to Mr. Whitman talk about thermodynamics and his voice will distract me from any sort of negative event that has occurred in my life. But today it doesn't work that way, his blabbing doesn't distract me enough so I plug in my earbuds and rest my head on the desk instead.

I look over at Timothée who is half asleep in the desk beside mine. I want to talk to him, because I know he'll distract me, I know looking into his eyes will make me think of nothing but how beautiful they are. How beautiful he is.

But he looks extremely tired, and he's trying to concentrate on the lesson as best he can but I can tell that after a few minutes he's going to probably pass out in his seat.

I play a loud obnoxious rap song that I don't like. The fact that I can't stand this song makes it even harder to focus my attention on anything but the annoying raspy voice of the singer. The beat makes me cringe and the lyrics don't fit well with the music and I force myself to focus on that instead of anything else.

It helps for a bit. But then even as I go through the rest of the album, song by song my mind still swims elsewhere and I find that I've drifted off into sleep halfway through the chorus of one of the rappers most popular hits.

I'm back in my house again, I'm looking at my reflection once more but this time I'm slightly older. I'm not twelve anymore, I'm fifteen and my jaw is purple and severely bruised.

I look down and find a makeup brush in my hand and some foundation on the table beside me. I don't need to figure out what happened to me. I vividly remember where that bruise came from and what had specifically caused it.

Aaron wanted to sleep over at his best friends house one night. My father would have never agreed to let him sleep over so Aaron asked me to cover for him in case our father asked why he hadn't come back home yet.

We both expected him to come home drunk and ask a few questions but then pass out before he could realize Aaron wasn't back home yet. But he did the total opposite.

I remember him yelling for me in the hallway. I walked out of my room panicked and distressed and as I'd expected he was drunk and he was angry.

Aaron wasn't in his room and my father kept asking me where he was. Why he wasn't home. It's a school day tomorrow. What is he doing out right now?

My answer was simply. 'He's working Dad, he has a project due tomorrow and he needed to go work on it at Phill's.' My father wasn't convinced though, my words didn't mean shit to him.

No matter how many times he pressed me to tell him the truth, I still stuck with the same story. I'd never rat Aaron out, Aaron knew that, and he wouldn't have risked getting me in trouble because of him if he'd known my dad would have been extra cranky on this particular night.

But Aaron didn't know, and that's what got me this bruise.

My bedroom door creaks open as I apply foundation to my bruise. It stings every time I apply even the slightest bit of pressure on it, but it's fine, the pain is bearable. A figure walks into my room and for a moment I fear it's my father but then I see Aaron's face in the reflection and I relax my shoulders.

I look down at the brush and I focus my attention on anything other than Aaron. His eyes are filled with so much regret and I can't bring myself to look at him. I don't want him to feel guilty and I definitely don't want him taking the blame for this. I know it's not his fault. He just wanted to be a normal teenager for one night. 'Fuck.' He mutters once he gets a slight glimpse of me.