i love vaughny
Cadet
Title: Feel Through You
By: i love vaughny
Disclaimer: blah blah blah, own nada.
Summary Sequel to “Not the One.” Based on the song “I Won’t Make You” by Something Corporate.
A/N: well, you guys, be happy, because i caved into writing this.
Not the One
My head is pounding. The practically neon yellow sun is shining into my room and through my closed eyelids, and my head is pounding insanely. I don’t want to wake up, I’m not sure why. All I know is that something is telling me I need to still be sleeping. It’s not because I’m tired, either. Yeah, I am, but that’s not why my body is telling me to stay put. Everything aches. Opening my eyes, little by little, of course, I realize that I’m in a fetal position with my knees bent up to my hunched-over back.
I’ve known that I was in this position all along, but the physical and mental comprehension is only registering now. I’m hugging a foam pillow close to my body. It seems I squeezed it to death while I slept. I wish I could remember why. Eventually, I decide to get myself out of bed. Slowly, I make my way to my bureau and vanity. Looking into the mirror, I observe that I look like felgercarb. Worse than felgercarb, if possible. My hair is tangled uncontrollably; I’m still wearing what I wore yesterday, only now the clothes are wrinkled to no end; the skin around my eyes is blotchy; and the whites of my eyes aren’t very white at all. They’re red. These are all clues to my migraine, pieces to the puzzle. Unfortunately, it’s one of those hundred plus piece box puzzles, where you have to find all the pieces individually, as opposed to having a form, an outline, to fit the few pieces into.
With a glass of water assisting, I swallow two red Tylenol capsules. Hopefully it will kick in sooner rather than later. With my head in my palms, while sitting at the kitchen table, I try to remember what the hell happened last night. The major things – the party, hanging out with everyone, dancing – I can remember. Smaller details, on the other hand, I can’t.
It came back to me like a brilliant flash of lightning against a black summer night sky. I kissed Michael last night. And I liked it. Michael, my best friend in the universe, Michael, and I kissed; I kissed him. He said I was drunk and pulled away. Was I drunk? Yes. Did I want to kiss Michael? Only since about freshman year. My migraine is quickly returning. Afterwards, he left; just drove off.
Oh my god.
I can’t concentrate on my thoughts – there are too many of them sprinting through my mind. Why did he leave? Did he want to kiss me? Was the reason he kissed me only because I kissed him? I was the one who initiated it, wasn’t I? It wasn’t weird like I thought it might be.
I remember I kept my eyes open. Even though I was drunk, most of the alcohol effects had worn off by that time. The reason I kept my eyes open was because I wanted to see the look on Michael’s face. For sure I needed to know he didn’t feel awkward about it, that he feels the same way I do about him. He seemed surprised at first, but then… I can’t describe it. Michael seemed at ease, as if a secret had been lifted from his soul.
The square-like digits on my clock tell me it’s a little after nine at night, not too late to go to the Vaughns’ and talk to Michael, clear things up once and for all. I primp mildly, just enough to be presentable. When I arrive at his house, it’s nine thirty-seven, which is still not too bad. My knuckles knock against the heavy wooden door. Through the frosted glass cutout in the center I can see someone walking towards it. A second later, it’s pulled inward and Mrs. Vaughn is standing before me. Her expression is incommunicable. It is a combination of unexpectedness, uncertainty, and sadness, all rolled into one. This causes me to be slightly concerned and makes the already wildly flying butterflies in my stomach fly around faster.
“Sydney,” she greets cordially, hiding something in her voice. I can’t quite place it.
“Hi,” I smile calmly. “Is Michael home?” I ask. I don’t see his car around, but that doesn’t mean it’s not in the garage. Her face falls completely. Forget concerned, I’m worried and scared.
“Sydney, Michael’s not here,” she answers, something still off about her.
I sigh. “Oh. Do you know what time he’ll be back?” I wonder aloud, knowing I’d be allowed to stay there until he returned.
She croaks, “You mean, he didn’t tell you?” Clearly she’s upset.
“Tell me what?” I question. Not knowing why, my eyes begin to tear up, like somehow I knew before I was told.
She’s shaking her head negatively now. “He left earlier today,” she said cryptically.
I don’t understand, so I ask, “Okay… but what time will he be back?” The porch light above us was lit, illuminating the oversized step where I was standing from the darkness. Foyer and additional lights from inside contributed to this illumination.
Mrs. Vaughn draws in a deep breath. It’s half sigh. “Sweetheart, Michael’s not here, and neither are his things. Earlier today he left for what he explained to us as a road trip venture he had to take before college. Since he’s eighteen, we couldn’t exactly stop him. So, instead, we gave him some extra cash for gas and food. I’m sorry; I thought he would have told you.”
I want to cry. My heart has hit the ice burg and is sunken. He left because of me, I’m sure of it in a non-conceited way. After thanking Mrs. Vaughn for telling me, I go home.
There’s nothing I can do or say to change what happened. But he didn’t have to leave. Michael, my Michael, is gone. We’ve been friends for four years; you’d think he would’ve at least left a lousy voicemail. Of course, even after checking again right now, there’s nothing. I think maybe if I would’ve shouted out to him last night, louder, I mean then maybe… maybe he would still be here. Everything’s so sudden today.
It occurs to me that I need Michael. Even if he only wants to be friends, I need him to exist normally, to function. Yeah, I want to be more than friends with him, a part of me always has, but I can’t make him feel differently about me. Those things are impossible.
A week’s passed. I feel stupid for not trying this earlier, but instead of waiting around to perhaps get a call from him, I call him myself. It goes straight to voicemail. I can’t bring myself to voice anything. Like I said, there’s nothing I could say. Three more weeks went by. Mrs. Vaughn calls me occasionally to tell me what state Michael’s just been in, which makes me assume she knows that Michael isn’t speaking to me. Each time she calls, I thank her.
Finally, after a month of him being gone, I know what to say. I tell him I miss him, but I don’t mention if it’s in a friendly or romantic way, as to not scare him off any more. Also, I tell him I’m sorry I drank so much that night, and that I know I shouldn’t have. This then makes me think that he’ll presume I didn’t want to kiss him. Basically, I screwed myself over. In correction, I come clean.
I say I love him, knowing he’ll guess I mean as a friend, but I don’t clarify. The last thing I ask is that he please, please, please calls me back because I have a lot to say to him. Much more than will fit in a voicemail message.
It’s funny, actually. I called him two weeks ago, and he hasn’t returned my calls, or text messages. For a time, I was angry with him. Then, I came to the conclusion that he probably has only been using his phone to call his family, so they know he’s okay, excluding all other calls and messages. We spoke of a road trip once, and said that’s what we’d do if we ever took one.
Minutes bleed into hours, hours into days, and days into weeks. All are weeks without Michael. I want him back. Selfishly, I pray he hasn’t met any opportunity snagging girls who’ve taken this confused high school grad and, sensing his vulnerability, taken advantage of it. Our one kiss was very brief, but I want more, many more. All I do is sleep, because in my dreams I can have him. Egotistically, I want to be able to kiss him again, only with more passion, because then even if he hasn’t thought of us together as a couple before, then maybe he might.
But I can’t make him love me.
I WON’T MAKE YOU LYRICS
By: i love vaughny
Disclaimer: blah blah blah, own nada.
Summary Sequel to “Not the One.” Based on the song “I Won’t Make You” by Something Corporate.
A/N: well, you guys, be happy, because i caved into writing this.
Not the One
My head is pounding. The practically neon yellow sun is shining into my room and through my closed eyelids, and my head is pounding insanely. I don’t want to wake up, I’m not sure why. All I know is that something is telling me I need to still be sleeping. It’s not because I’m tired, either. Yeah, I am, but that’s not why my body is telling me to stay put. Everything aches. Opening my eyes, little by little, of course, I realize that I’m in a fetal position with my knees bent up to my hunched-over back.
I’ve known that I was in this position all along, but the physical and mental comprehension is only registering now. I’m hugging a foam pillow close to my body. It seems I squeezed it to death while I slept. I wish I could remember why. Eventually, I decide to get myself out of bed. Slowly, I make my way to my bureau and vanity. Looking into the mirror, I observe that I look like felgercarb. Worse than felgercarb, if possible. My hair is tangled uncontrollably; I’m still wearing what I wore yesterday, only now the clothes are wrinkled to no end; the skin around my eyes is blotchy; and the whites of my eyes aren’t very white at all. They’re red. These are all clues to my migraine, pieces to the puzzle. Unfortunately, it’s one of those hundred plus piece box puzzles, where you have to find all the pieces individually, as opposed to having a form, an outline, to fit the few pieces into.
With a glass of water assisting, I swallow two red Tylenol capsules. Hopefully it will kick in sooner rather than later. With my head in my palms, while sitting at the kitchen table, I try to remember what the hell happened last night. The major things – the party, hanging out with everyone, dancing – I can remember. Smaller details, on the other hand, I can’t.
It came back to me like a brilliant flash of lightning against a black summer night sky. I kissed Michael last night. And I liked it. Michael, my best friend in the universe, Michael, and I kissed; I kissed him. He said I was drunk and pulled away. Was I drunk? Yes. Did I want to kiss Michael? Only since about freshman year. My migraine is quickly returning. Afterwards, he left; just drove off.
Oh my god.
I can’t concentrate on my thoughts – there are too many of them sprinting through my mind. Why did he leave? Did he want to kiss me? Was the reason he kissed me only because I kissed him? I was the one who initiated it, wasn’t I? It wasn’t weird like I thought it might be.
I remember I kept my eyes open. Even though I was drunk, most of the alcohol effects had worn off by that time. The reason I kept my eyes open was because I wanted to see the look on Michael’s face. For sure I needed to know he didn’t feel awkward about it, that he feels the same way I do about him. He seemed surprised at first, but then… I can’t describe it. Michael seemed at ease, as if a secret had been lifted from his soul.
The square-like digits on my clock tell me it’s a little after nine at night, not too late to go to the Vaughns’ and talk to Michael, clear things up once and for all. I primp mildly, just enough to be presentable. When I arrive at his house, it’s nine thirty-seven, which is still not too bad. My knuckles knock against the heavy wooden door. Through the frosted glass cutout in the center I can see someone walking towards it. A second later, it’s pulled inward and Mrs. Vaughn is standing before me. Her expression is incommunicable. It is a combination of unexpectedness, uncertainty, and sadness, all rolled into one. This causes me to be slightly concerned and makes the already wildly flying butterflies in my stomach fly around faster.
“Sydney,” she greets cordially, hiding something in her voice. I can’t quite place it.
“Hi,” I smile calmly. “Is Michael home?” I ask. I don’t see his car around, but that doesn’t mean it’s not in the garage. Her face falls completely. Forget concerned, I’m worried and scared.
“Sydney, Michael’s not here,” she answers, something still off about her.
I sigh. “Oh. Do you know what time he’ll be back?” I wonder aloud, knowing I’d be allowed to stay there until he returned.
She croaks, “You mean, he didn’t tell you?” Clearly she’s upset.
“Tell me what?” I question. Not knowing why, my eyes begin to tear up, like somehow I knew before I was told.
She’s shaking her head negatively now. “He left earlier today,” she said cryptically.
I don’t understand, so I ask, “Okay… but what time will he be back?” The porch light above us was lit, illuminating the oversized step where I was standing from the darkness. Foyer and additional lights from inside contributed to this illumination.
Mrs. Vaughn draws in a deep breath. It’s half sigh. “Sweetheart, Michael’s not here, and neither are his things. Earlier today he left for what he explained to us as a road trip venture he had to take before college. Since he’s eighteen, we couldn’t exactly stop him. So, instead, we gave him some extra cash for gas and food. I’m sorry; I thought he would have told you.”
I want to cry. My heart has hit the ice burg and is sunken. He left because of me, I’m sure of it in a non-conceited way. After thanking Mrs. Vaughn for telling me, I go home.
There’s nothing I can do or say to change what happened. But he didn’t have to leave. Michael, my Michael, is gone. We’ve been friends for four years; you’d think he would’ve at least left a lousy voicemail. Of course, even after checking again right now, there’s nothing. I think maybe if I would’ve shouted out to him last night, louder, I mean then maybe… maybe he would still be here. Everything’s so sudden today.
It occurs to me that I need Michael. Even if he only wants to be friends, I need him to exist normally, to function. Yeah, I want to be more than friends with him, a part of me always has, but I can’t make him feel differently about me. Those things are impossible.
A week’s passed. I feel stupid for not trying this earlier, but instead of waiting around to perhaps get a call from him, I call him myself. It goes straight to voicemail. I can’t bring myself to voice anything. Like I said, there’s nothing I could say. Three more weeks went by. Mrs. Vaughn calls me occasionally to tell me what state Michael’s just been in, which makes me assume she knows that Michael isn’t speaking to me. Each time she calls, I thank her.
Finally, after a month of him being gone, I know what to say. I tell him I miss him, but I don’t mention if it’s in a friendly or romantic way, as to not scare him off any more. Also, I tell him I’m sorry I drank so much that night, and that I know I shouldn’t have. This then makes me think that he’ll presume I didn’t want to kiss him. Basically, I screwed myself over. In correction, I come clean.
I say I love him, knowing he’ll guess I mean as a friend, but I don’t clarify. The last thing I ask is that he please, please, please calls me back because I have a lot to say to him. Much more than will fit in a voicemail message.
It’s funny, actually. I called him two weeks ago, and he hasn’t returned my calls, or text messages. For a time, I was angry with him. Then, I came to the conclusion that he probably has only been using his phone to call his family, so they know he’s okay, excluding all other calls and messages. We spoke of a road trip once, and said that’s what we’d do if we ever took one.
Minutes bleed into hours, hours into days, and days into weeks. All are weeks without Michael. I want him back. Selfishly, I pray he hasn’t met any opportunity snagging girls who’ve taken this confused high school grad and, sensing his vulnerability, taken advantage of it. Our one kiss was very brief, but I want more, many more. All I do is sleep, because in my dreams I can have him. Egotistically, I want to be able to kiss him again, only with more passion, because then even if he hasn’t thought of us together as a couple before, then maybe he might.
But I can’t make him love me.
I WON’T MAKE YOU LYRICS
I'm under attack again my dear, I'm in the way
Got no resolutions, no clever anecdotes to say
And still if I yell at the top of my lungs will it be the same?
I'd fly you a flag, I'd bury this pen into my veins
I wanna feel through you tonight
But I won't make you
I won't make you
The telephone number I got for you says nobody's home
The best thing I can think to do right now is leave it alone
And you had an apology in your mailbox since last July
It's funny when you find the words to say you find no reply
I wanna feel through you tonight
But I won't make you
I won't make you
Scream my name just one more time
But I won't make you
I won't make you
And it's been hours now
To be here like this
And just to lay you down
And just to taste your lips
And just to keep me up
God I'm tired of sleeping
And just to lay inside you
And just to know this feeling
I wanna feel through you tonight
But I won't make you
I won't make you
Scream my name just one more time
But I won't make you
I won't make you
Got no resolutions, no clever anecdotes to say
And still if I yell at the top of my lungs will it be the same?
I'd fly you a flag, I'd bury this pen into my veins
I wanna feel through you tonight
But I won't make you
I won't make you
The telephone number I got for you says nobody's home
The best thing I can think to do right now is leave it alone
And you had an apology in your mailbox since last July
It's funny when you find the words to say you find no reply
I wanna feel through you tonight
But I won't make you
I won't make you
Scream my name just one more time
But I won't make you
I won't make you
And it's been hours now
To be here like this
And just to lay you down
And just to taste your lips
And just to keep me up
God I'm tired of sleeping
And just to lay inside you
And just to know this feeling
I wanna feel through you tonight
But I won't make you
I won't make you
Scream my name just one more time
But I won't make you
I won't make you
