Liam Evans

artwork belongs to Jasper Behrends

::You are the closest thing I have::

Liam crosses and uncrosses his legs for the umpteenth time. His back wet against the bar stool he was sitting on. He is sweating. His mind is boiling. His thoughts are racing. His fists curled tightly into ball. He tries hard to hold on to his table. He tries hard not to jump out of his stool, run to a particular redhead and slaps her hard with the back of his palm. He tries not to imagine how satisfied he would be when he could feel the sting on his palm and realizing the other flesh is even more hurt than his. He tries to contain his wrath by breathing through his mouth, slowly, just like what his granny taught him on his mom’s funeral when he was six. As expected, it works well for him. He can finally calm down a little, at least his shoulders stop shaking now.

“Are you fucking joking right now?” He lowered his eyes and glared at me. His anger was crystal clear on his dark coal eyes. “Do you mean to tell me, after all these years, you’ve had enough? Enough of what, Liam? What exactly that you’ve had enough of? It doesn’t make a fuc—“

“Listen, Darren!” I cut him off before anymore of swear words spiraling out of his lips. His lips. His lips used to be pretty. No. They were beautiful. They were the most beautiful lips that ever travelled freely on me. AREN’T THEY NOW? What?! Wait—How did it happen? I couldn’t remember how or when did his lips start moving on my neck. They were moving freely now.

ps : again. i wrote it in highschool. pls dont judge.