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song: unwell - matchbox twenty
Jem
WHEN I REACHED my block, I still couldn’t get the girl from the elevator out of my head. Indigo. Curly brown hair, round face and the biggest caramel eyes on the fuckin’ planet. And the freckles? Jesus H Christ. She was stunning without even trying, without knowing. I smiled to myself.
“Yo, J.” Eli, my roommate, snapped me out of my daze. “What’s with the shit-eating grin?”
“Nothin’,” I said, “What’s for supper?”
“Chinese fried, fatass.”
“Hm.”
Eli handed me a plate and shoved his face right in front of mine so that I had no choice but to meet his gaze. I stared at him flatly. “What.”
“It’s ten,” he sang.
I shovelled rice into my mouth, so I had an excuse not to elaborate. “So?”
“So,” Eli pressed, “Did you get ass or no?”
“Hm.”
Eli made a face. “What? Is that a yes or no?”
I stopped eating and stared at him. “No.”
“What?” There was a brief pause, as if he was waiting for me to say sike or something. When I didn’t, the fucker started laughing.
I would shoot something right back about how he was also at home on a Friday night at ten, but Eli was still strung up on his ex. Clinically. He hardly ever left the apartment if it wasn’t for work at the garage. He just stayed in and played Call of Duty. And figured out brand new ways to get on my nerves.
Nevertheless, it was an improvement from a few weeks ago, when I had to physically drag him out of bed and force him to take a shower and eat. So I just settled with a low, “Quit it.”
He didn’t.
He just laughed harder.
At this point, I just wanted to finish my Chinese fried rice in peace. “Man. What’s so funny?”
“You never spend Friday at the apartment. It’s always at some shitty sorority or something. What, you couldn’t get it up?”
I spooned rice into my mouth. “She had company.”
Eli grinned. “So? You could’ve asked company if she wanted to join.”
I groaned. “Can we not talk about threesomes when I’m trying to eat, Elijah?”
“Okay, Jeremiah,” he mocked, “But real talk. Why are you here?”
“It’s my place too, asshole.”
I was about to flip him off when I realized he was…right. After the whole Scarlett thing hadn’t worked out, I could’ve easily hit speed dial. Actually, that’s exactly what I should’ve done.
Instead, I found myself no longer in the mood for a quickie.
What changed?
Ah, there it was again—just when I’d managed to successfully pull her out of my mind. Indigo. Indigo happened. I’d stolen her marshmallows like a klepto, and instead of simply returning it and leaving, I’d somehow struck up conversation with her.
I never started conversations. People sometimes thought it was a good idea to talk to me (it wasn’t, most of the time), and I’d come up with the shortest, most clipped reply I could. Conversations were hardly ever worth it. Most people were boring as fuck.
YOU ARE READING
Fragile Little Things ✓
RomanceIndigo Gallagher was born with osteochondroma, a condition that leaves her physically fragile. Between shifts at her granʼs flower shop and her tumultuous relationship, all she wants is to get through her second year of pre-med unscathed. Although...
