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OOM: Lady Troubles
Apr. 11th, 2012 10:16 amAfter dropping Emma off, Michael doesn't go home right away. The Charger cuts through pre-dawn traffic with no particular direction, slowly rolling past palm trees, bodegas, warehouses and nightclubs - none of which he particularly cares to see.
It's not supposed to feel like this. He's not supposed to feel like this. They've known each other all of two weeks - one brush with death and sleeping together shouldn't make it feel like he's been kicked in the chest to watch her walk away. One night stands happen, a physical connection to deal with stress and anxiety and feel close to someone for a little bit before breaking ties.
That wasn't what happened. It wasn't supposed to happen.
Both the fuel tank and his energy running close to empty, when he finally returns to the loft the sun's coming up. He climbs up to the platform overlooking his bed - he can't sleep when the sheets smell like her - and collapses on the sofa until it's too hot to sleep anymore.
When he wakes again, it's almost one and his empty stomach reminds him that he hasn't eaten more than a cup of yogurt in the last two days. As he remedies that with another cup of yogurt over the sink he realizes he's not the only one who's probably not looking their best.
As expected, Sam doesn't answer his phone, but Michael leaves a message anyway; "Hey, uh... Sam. Up for a two mojito lunch? Come by the loft."
Seems like as good a time as any to break out the heavybag and beat the crap out of his fists.
It's not supposed to feel like this. He's not supposed to feel like this. They've known each other all of two weeks - one brush with death and sleeping together shouldn't make it feel like he's been kicked in the chest to watch her walk away. One night stands happen, a physical connection to deal with stress and anxiety and feel close to someone for a little bit before breaking ties.
That wasn't what happened. It wasn't supposed to happen.
Both the fuel tank and his energy running close to empty, when he finally returns to the loft the sun's coming up. He climbs up to the platform overlooking his bed - he can't sleep when the sheets smell like her - and collapses on the sofa until it's too hot to sleep anymore.
When he wakes again, it's almost one and his empty stomach reminds him that he hasn't eaten more than a cup of yogurt in the last two days. As he remedies that with another cup of yogurt over the sink he realizes he's not the only one who's probably not looking their best.
As expected, Sam doesn't answer his phone, but Michael leaves a message anyway; "Hey, uh... Sam. Up for a two mojito lunch? Come by the loft."
Seems like as good a time as any to break out the heavybag and beat the crap out of his fists.
