August: With Trouble Remembering What Went Wrong.
Author: Bayley
Story: Suburbia
Word Count: 1743
Rating: PG-13, for what's implied.
Summary: Tangled sheets, spotty memory, and two best friends a little too close for comfort. Tay isn't too excited to figure out what just happened between her and Matt.
Flavors: Chocolate #7 - Regret. Rocky Road #5 - Bedroom. Let's hope I didn't forget anything else.
Notes: This is where Suburbia begins. Was originally going to be a prologue, but it became more fleshed out so this can be the official Chapter Uno. I'm always a little nervous with starting stories, because beginnings aren't my strong suit. I don't have much, but I'll probably get an index up soon just to keep myself organized. Also, still learning the flavor system. Hopefully I do better this time.
A room full of crowded, stifling bodies. She can hardly move through them.
Two bodies at the end of the long hallway, practically connected. The skanky looking blonde untangles herself from his arms and gives her a snarl most rabid animals would be proud of.
Mason laughing hysterically, practically falling over the countertop, holding a glass filled with amber colored liquid above his head.
Falling up the stairs, tripping over them step by step. Her name is being shouted at her back.
Being carried through the hallway. Warm. Safe.
"Don't worry Tay Tay, I got you."
"I love you."
Taylor's eyes fly open, and she immediately regrets it. The light is white hot, laser bright, and her head punishes her for it by starting an earthquake in her temples.
"Shit." She rolls over, away from the light, and her stomach decides to join in on the punishment as well. She can feel - practically hear - everything she's eaten in the past month slosh around in the most disgusting way.
It takes minutes before Taylor is brave enough to try it again. Slowly this time, eyelid by eyelid. The white hot lasers turned out to just be earl morning sunlight streaming through the window.
It her even longer for her to realize that it isn't her bedroom the sun is lighting up.
She shoots straight up like a rocket, ignoring the violent protest of her stomach. She's too freaked out to puke. She's too freaked out to even think about where she is. It takes at least a minute of solid fear before she recognizes the messy floor, littered in clothes and CD cases and crumpled paper, the posters taped all over the walls, the old guitar in the corner with the signature dent . . .
She took in a deep, shaky breath. She had been in this room so many times, there was no mistake.
"Tay?"
Taylor probably would have fallen right out of the bed if there wasn't a tangle of sheets keeping her in. Matt was lying only inches away from her, looking sleepy, messy, and also completely and stark naked.
"Matt!" She chokes out, not even worrying about how gravelly and distorted her voice sounds. She can't stop staring at him. Completely naked. Lying inches away from her, like it's no big deal. "What's going on? Why are you . . ."
He doesn't answer her. He seems to be too preoccupied by staring at her, with a fascinated and almost hypnotized look on his face. She moves to wrap her arms around her body - a habit of hers when she's being looked at - and makes the second disturbing discovery of the day.
"Oh my God!" She shouts and pulls as much of the comforter possible over her completely exposed chest. Matt being completely naked was one thing. They had been best friends for so long, maybe he just thought it wouldn't bother her to crawl under the covers without anything on. And wasn't it normal for guys to sleep naked anyway? But her . . . she never sleeps naked. Not even at the hottest peak of summer.
The obvious answer is right there. But Taylor refuses to let it linger in head for longer than a second.
She glances at Matt, waiting for some kind of explanation, but he's still silently staring at her like she's made of gold. It makes her already heaving stomach feel even worse.
Still wrapped up in blankets, she turns away and closes her eyes, willing for this all to be a dream.
"Matt, come on . . ."
" . . . need you . . ."
"I love you."
The confusing, blurred, slideshow flashes before her eyes. She can hear her voice. And Matt's voice. Suddenly, her stomach is traveling towards her throat.
"Tay? You alright?" Matt's voice - his present voice - and his touch on her arm snap her back to reality. She has to look up at his concerned face; she didn't even know she had hunched over nearly curled up in a ball.
Taylor nods weakly and lets him help her up. She even lets herself lean against him, just because it was such a normal gesture that it was sort of comforting. The fact that there was literally nothing separating their skin didn't even cross her mind for a few moments.
"How're you feeling?" Matt asks after a few seconds of silence.
Taylor shrugs. "Shitty. Confused. Kinda gross."
"That sounds about right. You'll be fine though." He says. "Are you . . . uh . . . sore?"
"Huh?" Taylor turned around to frown at him. "Sore?"
Matt looks insanely uncomfortable now. "Um, I just thought that it was supposed to hurt for girls after . . ."
"After what?" Taylor demands, slowly backing away until she was standing on the floor next to the bed.
Matt doesn't answer. He just looks away, starts playing with the hair on the back of his neck, and focuses on the wall. For a second, it looks like he's a little hurt.
"Matt . . ." She shakes her head. The longer she looks at him, the more keeps flooding back to her.
Pants sliding down.
Bra coming off.
"Touch me."
"Taylor? Do you not remember anyth- "
"No." She says, still shaking her head. "No, no way."
Matt cocks his head and frowns. "You don't? At all? I knew I shouldn't have let Mason - "
"No, no, no." She keeps muttering as she walks around the room, picking up her clothes. She tries not to think about why everything of hers is scattered and tossed around randomly. "There's nothing to remember, okay?"
"Tay, you can't say that." There's a hint of desperation in Matt's voice now. He pulls on the closest pair of boxers and moves closer to her. "Nothing bad happened, I swear. We just - "
"No we didn't!" Taylor backs away from Matt like he's contagious. She fumbles to pull her shirt on, not caring that it's backwards and inside out.
"I . . . I was just dunk." She continues. Hungover. That has to explain why her head and stomach were trying to kill her. She begins piecing things together as they come to her. "I was drunk because . . . because Mason was drunk, and - and I was just stupid, and I came up here because, well, I don't know why, I just did, and I guess I just . . . thought it was a good idea to take my clothes off."
"And what, I just happened to take my clothes off and join you?" Matt scoffs. "Tay, why are you acting like this?"
"I - I don't know! You were drunk too, weren't you? I mean, would you put it past you?" Taylor fumbles out, ignoring the second part of his question.
For a second, it looked like Matt was going to say something. He had a determined look on his face, mouth ready open to speak, then something on his face changed. He simply nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I was. But that doesn't change anything, or what happened last night."
"Nothing happened!" Taylor shouts with a note of hysteria. "We were drunk, which was a fucking stupid idea, we got stupid, and now we've seen each other naked. We can laugh about it later, okay?"
"That's - "
"I gotta go." Taylor pushes past Matt and dashes out of his room and down the hall, ignoring his shouts behind her.
The Amato house is completely trashed. As Taylor races down the stairs and through the living room, she can see red cups and litter and mysterious stains, and even a few people passed out on furniture. The front yard was pretty much the same, minus the people. She can't get to her Saturn parked in the driveway fast enough.
"Taylor! Come on! Come back here!" Matt followed her out and was shouting in the doorway. He sounds desperate and hurt, and a big part of Taylor hated to see him like that. But still, more than anything, she needed to get away.
Driving home, she was lucky it was too early for cops to be out on the small roads, because she probably would have gotten her license taken away for the speed she was going. It wasn't like she could concentrate on driving anyway. She focuses on the road as hard as possible, and still her mind keeps flashing away. No more flashbacks from the night before, thank God. But other things that make her feel almost worse.
The two of them sitting in Matt's bedroom - on those same covers - watching him practice endless guitar covers while she poked fun at and critiqued them.
Watching Matt and Mason - who finished them off, made them a trio - sneak wine coolers from Mason's parent's liquor cabinet.
Hours of spending nights in the Amato's giant back yard, under the stars.
Countless more.
Sure enough, Taylor made the fifteen minute drive back home in under seven minutes. By this point she's shaking, and she's thankful the side door was only feet away from the stairs and her bedroom so her parents wouldn't hear her bang around the entire house.
Without even bothering to undress, she dives right on her bed and crawled under the covers. She squeezes her eyes shut, tries to block out the sun, Matt's face, Matt's body, Matt's everything.
It makes the effects of her hangover kick into full gear.
It can't happen. It shouldn't have happened. Taylor knows she's going to have to go for a a while - maybe even the rest of her life - pretending that last night didn't happen.
Doing . . . whatever it was that her and Matt did - she can't think about it in detail, she just can't bring herself to - could destroy them. Destroy what they have, what she and Mason have, everything she's known for the past four years. And she couldn't stand to even think about that.
But on the other hand, pretending like nothing happened seemed to really hurt Matt. Taylor couldn't figure out why he was so caring about it. The last thing she remembers seeing before she blacks out is Matt's face - hurt and confused but yet so soft - combined with the sensation of hands running all over her body.
Story: Suburbia
Word Count: 1743
Rating: PG-13, for what's implied.
Summary: Tangled sheets, spotty memory, and two best friends a little too close for comfort. Tay isn't too excited to figure out what just happened between her and Matt.
Flavors: Chocolate #7 - Regret. Rocky Road #5 - Bedroom. Let's hope I didn't forget anything else.
Notes: This is where Suburbia begins. Was originally going to be a prologue, but it became more fleshed out so this can be the official Chapter Uno. I'm always a little nervous with starting stories, because beginnings aren't my strong suit. I don't have much, but I'll probably get an index up soon just to keep myself organized. Also, still learning the flavor system. Hopefully I do better this time.
A room full of crowded, stifling bodies. She can hardly move through them.
Two bodies at the end of the long hallway, practically connected. The skanky looking blonde untangles herself from his arms and gives her a snarl most rabid animals would be proud of.
Mason laughing hysterically, practically falling over the countertop, holding a glass filled with amber colored liquid above his head.
Falling up the stairs, tripping over them step by step. Her name is being shouted at her back.
Being carried through the hallway. Warm. Safe.
"Don't worry Tay Tay, I got you."
"I love you."
Taylor's eyes fly open, and she immediately regrets it. The light is white hot, laser bright, and her head punishes her for it by starting an earthquake in her temples.
"Shit." She rolls over, away from the light, and her stomach decides to join in on the punishment as well. She can feel - practically hear - everything she's eaten in the past month slosh around in the most disgusting way.
It takes minutes before Taylor is brave enough to try it again. Slowly this time, eyelid by eyelid. The white hot lasers turned out to just be earl morning sunlight streaming through the window.
It her even longer for her to realize that it isn't her bedroom the sun is lighting up.
She shoots straight up like a rocket, ignoring the violent protest of her stomach. She's too freaked out to puke. She's too freaked out to even think about where she is. It takes at least a minute of solid fear before she recognizes the messy floor, littered in clothes and CD cases and crumpled paper, the posters taped all over the walls, the old guitar in the corner with the signature dent . . .
She took in a deep, shaky breath. She had been in this room so many times, there was no mistake.
"Tay?"
Taylor probably would have fallen right out of the bed if there wasn't a tangle of sheets keeping her in. Matt was lying only inches away from her, looking sleepy, messy, and also completely and stark naked.
"Matt!" She chokes out, not even worrying about how gravelly and distorted her voice sounds. She can't stop staring at him. Completely naked. Lying inches away from her, like it's no big deal. "What's going on? Why are you . . ."
He doesn't answer her. He seems to be too preoccupied by staring at her, with a fascinated and almost hypnotized look on his face. She moves to wrap her arms around her body - a habit of hers when she's being looked at - and makes the second disturbing discovery of the day.
"Oh my God!" She shouts and pulls as much of the comforter possible over her completely exposed chest. Matt being completely naked was one thing. They had been best friends for so long, maybe he just thought it wouldn't bother her to crawl under the covers without anything on. And wasn't it normal for guys to sleep naked anyway? But her . . . she never sleeps naked. Not even at the hottest peak of summer.
The obvious answer is right there. But Taylor refuses to let it linger in head for longer than a second.
She glances at Matt, waiting for some kind of explanation, but he's still silently staring at her like she's made of gold. It makes her already heaving stomach feel even worse.
Still wrapped up in blankets, she turns away and closes her eyes, willing for this all to be a dream.
"Matt, come on . . ."
" . . . need you . . ."
"I love you."
The confusing, blurred, slideshow flashes before her eyes. She can hear her voice. And Matt's voice. Suddenly, her stomach is traveling towards her throat.
"Tay? You alright?" Matt's voice - his present voice - and his touch on her arm snap her back to reality. She has to look up at his concerned face; she didn't even know she had hunched over nearly curled up in a ball.
Taylor nods weakly and lets him help her up. She even lets herself lean against him, just because it was such a normal gesture that it was sort of comforting. The fact that there was literally nothing separating their skin didn't even cross her mind for a few moments.
"How're you feeling?" Matt asks after a few seconds of silence.
Taylor shrugs. "Shitty. Confused. Kinda gross."
"That sounds about right. You'll be fine though." He says. "Are you . . . uh . . . sore?"
"Huh?" Taylor turned around to frown at him. "Sore?"
Matt looks insanely uncomfortable now. "Um, I just thought that it was supposed to hurt for girls after . . ."
"After what?" Taylor demands, slowly backing away until she was standing on the floor next to the bed.
Matt doesn't answer. He just looks away, starts playing with the hair on the back of his neck, and focuses on the wall. For a second, it looks like he's a little hurt.
"Matt . . ." She shakes her head. The longer she looks at him, the more keeps flooding back to her.
Pants sliding down.
Bra coming off.
"Touch me."
"Taylor? Do you not remember anyth- "
"No." She says, still shaking her head. "No, no way."
Matt cocks his head and frowns. "You don't? At all? I knew I shouldn't have let Mason - "
"No, no, no." She keeps muttering as she walks around the room, picking up her clothes. She tries not to think about why everything of hers is scattered and tossed around randomly. "There's nothing to remember, okay?"
"Tay, you can't say that." There's a hint of desperation in Matt's voice now. He pulls on the closest pair of boxers and moves closer to her. "Nothing bad happened, I swear. We just - "
"No we didn't!" Taylor backs away from Matt like he's contagious. She fumbles to pull her shirt on, not caring that it's backwards and inside out.
"I . . . I was just dunk." She continues. Hungover. That has to explain why her head and stomach were trying to kill her. She begins piecing things together as they come to her. "I was drunk because . . . because Mason was drunk, and - and I was just stupid, and I came up here because, well, I don't know why, I just did, and I guess I just . . . thought it was a good idea to take my clothes off."
"And what, I just happened to take my clothes off and join you?" Matt scoffs. "Tay, why are you acting like this?"
"I - I don't know! You were drunk too, weren't you? I mean, would you put it past you?" Taylor fumbles out, ignoring the second part of his question.
For a second, it looked like Matt was going to say something. He had a determined look on his face, mouth ready open to speak, then something on his face changed. He simply nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I was. But that doesn't change anything, or what happened last night."
"Nothing happened!" Taylor shouts with a note of hysteria. "We were drunk, which was a fucking stupid idea, we got stupid, and now we've seen each other naked. We can laugh about it later, okay?"
"That's - "
"I gotta go." Taylor pushes past Matt and dashes out of his room and down the hall, ignoring his shouts behind her.
The Amato house is completely trashed. As Taylor races down the stairs and through the living room, she can see red cups and litter and mysterious stains, and even a few people passed out on furniture. The front yard was pretty much the same, minus the people. She can't get to her Saturn parked in the driveway fast enough.
"Taylor! Come on! Come back here!" Matt followed her out and was shouting in the doorway. He sounds desperate and hurt, and a big part of Taylor hated to see him like that. But still, more than anything, she needed to get away.
Driving home, she was lucky it was too early for cops to be out on the small roads, because she probably would have gotten her license taken away for the speed she was going. It wasn't like she could concentrate on driving anyway. She focuses on the road as hard as possible, and still her mind keeps flashing away. No more flashbacks from the night before, thank God. But other things that make her feel almost worse.
The two of them sitting in Matt's bedroom - on those same covers - watching him practice endless guitar covers while she poked fun at and critiqued them.
Watching Matt and Mason - who finished them off, made them a trio - sneak wine coolers from Mason's parent's liquor cabinet.
Hours of spending nights in the Amato's giant back yard, under the stars.
Countless more.
Sure enough, Taylor made the fifteen minute drive back home in under seven minutes. By this point she's shaking, and she's thankful the side door was only feet away from the stairs and her bedroom so her parents wouldn't hear her bang around the entire house.
Without even bothering to undress, she dives right on her bed and crawled under the covers. She squeezes her eyes shut, tries to block out the sun, Matt's face, Matt's body, Matt's everything.
It makes the effects of her hangover kick into full gear.
It can't happen. It shouldn't have happened. Taylor knows she's going to have to go for a a while - maybe even the rest of her life - pretending that last night didn't happen.
Doing . . . whatever it was that her and Matt did - she can't think about it in detail, she just can't bring herself to - could destroy them. Destroy what they have, what she and Mason have, everything she's known for the past four years. And she couldn't stand to even think about that.
But on the other hand, pretending like nothing happened seemed to really hurt Matt. Taylor couldn't figure out why he was so caring about it. The last thing she remembers seeing before she blacks out is Matt's face - hurt and confused but yet so soft - combined with the sensation of hands running all over her body.