Taylor Hall.
Drafted.
Number one overall.
Omg.
Is this real life?
I've been watching this guy play since his first year in Windsor, and I think it's incredible how much he's grown as a player. I can't believe the day has actually come where he's been drafted. Unbelievable <3
So in Taylor spirit, a friend of mine started a Taylor Hall story, and I think y'all should read/follow/comment.
http://taylorhallx4.blogspot.com/
Chapter 14 is on it's way soon, sorry for the long breaks in between chapters, I'm going to try and update more regularly. When I first started this story, I never thought that I'd get to 19 followers. This is crazy. So thanks for all the comments and feedback I've been getting, it really helps me get more done. The more comments, the faster I write.
Peace, <3
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Could it be This Misery Will Subside - Fourteen
The Spitfires were headed to the Memorial Cup, in Rimouski, and Taylor had asked me to go with him. Naturally, I had accepted. Any reason to leave Windsor for a few days was a good one. I laid my suitcase on my bed, and tossed in a pile of clothes, searching around the room for things I might possibly need. I was furiously digging through a pile of clothes I had in my closet for Mickey's jersey, when I heard a knock on my door. I jumped up and ran to the door, smiling widely as Taylor stood there, hair all ruffled, with Mickey's jersey over his shoulder. He leant down and gave me a kiss, before throwing the jersey over my head.
"You left this at my place a few days ago." Taylor said winking, "Thought you'd might want it back."
"Thank you" I smiled and headed back to my room, peeling the jersey off of my head and folding it nicely into my suitcase.
"You ready to go?" Taylor said, walking into my room with a mug of coffee for me.
"Just about," I said, taking the mug from Taylor, "Do you see anything else I need to pack?"
Taylor wondered around my room, looking through piles of clothes scattered everywhere. He stopped, and picked something up that I couldn't see, and grinned widely.
"What is it?" I asked, hopping off my bed.
"I think you need to pack these," Taylor said, spinning around and flashing me a pair of black lace underwear, "We've got a hotel room to ourselves."
"You're such a perv, Hall." I said, snatching the underwear from him and winking. "Plus, I feel like these would be a distraction from your hockey." I said waving the underwear in his face.
"Oh, I don't mind a distraction now and then." Taylor said, stepping closer to me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pressing his lips onto mine softly.
"Well," I said, pulling away from him and smiling, "I guess I'll pack them then"
I threw the underwear in my suitcase, then felt Taylor pounce on my back, wrestling me onto the bed. I laughed and tried to push him off of me, but he didn't budge. He just leaned down, and kissed me, sending an electrical current all over my body. Instinctively, I wriggled my arms around his neck and pulled him closer to me, deepening the once innocent kiss. He broke away for a moment, and looked at me with his big blue eyes. One look was enough, then I peeled off his tshirt and he did the same to mine. A few more minutes passed by and our clothes had scattered all accross the room. He kissed my forehead gently, and then... bliss.
"You left this at my place a few days ago." Taylor said winking, "Thought you'd might want it back."
"Thank you" I smiled and headed back to my room, peeling the jersey off of my head and folding it nicely into my suitcase.
"You ready to go?" Taylor said, walking into my room with a mug of coffee for me.
"Just about," I said, taking the mug from Taylor, "Do you see anything else I need to pack?"
Taylor wondered around my room, looking through piles of clothes scattered everywhere. He stopped, and picked something up that I couldn't see, and grinned widely.
"What is it?" I asked, hopping off my bed.
"I think you need to pack these," Taylor said, spinning around and flashing me a pair of black lace underwear, "We've got a hotel room to ourselves."
"You're such a perv, Hall." I said, snatching the underwear from him and winking. "Plus, I feel like these would be a distraction from your hockey." I said waving the underwear in his face.
"Oh, I don't mind a distraction now and then." Taylor said, stepping closer to me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pressing his lips onto mine softly.
"Well," I said, pulling away from him and smiling, "I guess I'll pack them then"
I threw the underwear in my suitcase, then felt Taylor pounce on my back, wrestling me onto the bed. I laughed and tried to push him off of me, but he didn't budge. He just leaned down, and kissed me, sending an electrical current all over my body. Instinctively, I wriggled my arms around his neck and pulled him closer to me, deepening the once innocent kiss. He broke away for a moment, and looked at me with his big blue eyes. One look was enough, then I peeled off his tshirt and he did the same to mine. A few more minutes passed by and our clothes had scattered all accross the room. He kissed my forehead gently, and then... bliss.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
All the Worries That Occupy the Back of my Mind // Thirteen
Hangover. Beautiful. I thought as I woke up the next morning my head pounding as if there was an African Tribal Ceremony going on in my brain. I turned myself over in my bed only to see that Taylor wasn't there. I sat up and pulled my hair into a messy bun on top of my head, and saw a glass of water and two Advils on my bedside table. Tucked under the glass of water was a note from Taylor.
Practice this morning, sorry I'm not there to help ease your hangover. Take the Advil, and I hope you feel better soon. I should be back around 11.
ps: Chocolate cake in the fridge. Score.
pps: I found your camera, it's on the living room table. Pick it up?
ppps: I love you.
-T
I felt a grin appear on my face and I slid the note back onto the table, picking up the Advil and glass of water and downing the two pills and half of the water. ppps: I love you. He said he loved me. He loves me. I simply shook my head and smiled. I walked over to the kitchen and grabbed the chocolate cake out of the fridge, laughing a little at the smiley face Taylor had attempted to draw on the cake in whipped cream.
He tried so hard to make me forget about everything that has brought me down in the past couple of months, I don't know what kind of person it takes to be that kind of constant tower of support with almost no backup. I've been so involved with mourning my loss, that I've almost forgotten how hard this must be on Taylor too.
I knew that even if this romantic stint we've been going on ended for one reason or another, he'd always be my best friend. He'd always be there. He was stable. I could say anything to Taylor, and he'd always be supportive of me. As I walked towards the couch, I saw my camera laying on the table, and it made my head spin. I hadn't touched, or even looked, at my camera since Mickey died.
Mickey was the one who bought me my first camera, signed me up for my first course, and encouraged me to apply to Ryerson for the fall. Everything about my photography had to do with Mickey. I stared at my camera blankly. I didn't move. I finally took a deep breath, reached out for my camera, and held it for the first time in two months. It felt different now, for some reason, my camera felt heavier, like there was a bigger weight being carried around with it.
Attached to the shutter button was a yellow post-it note with the words Use me scribbled on in Taylor's hand writing. I hit the power button, and heard my camera begin to adjust itself to the lighting in my living room. I felt my hands tighten around the lens, as I turned it slowly to focus in on the piece of cake on the living room coffee table. My hands were trembling as I hit the shutter button, but my shakyness was quickly put to ease by the sound of my camera click. It was one of the most soothing sounds to me, and picture after picture that I took, I felt my camera get lighter, and my face start spreading into a wider smile.
By now, my hangover was mainly gone and I was scurrying around my place, snapping pictures of everything I found interesting. Taylor's discarded t-shirt from last night. My open lipstick tube in the bathroom. Mickey's jersey hanging peacefully in my closet. Finally, I headed back to the living room, snapped a few pictures of the discarded bottle of Jack Daniels on the ground.
As soon as the smell hit my nose, I felt myself get nauseous. I covered my mouth with my hand, tossed my camera on the couch, and sprinted to the washroom. My knees hit the cold tile floors, and I gripped onto the toilet seat tightly as I began throwing up bile by the bucket load. My eyes began to water up, and tears began to flow, something that always happened whenever I got sick. I heard the front door open as the bile kept coming. Then out of nowhere, Taylor was kneeling beside me, pulling my hair away from my face and rubbing my back in circles. I clenched onto his hand as I finally felt my nausea subside. I got up and wiped my mouth clean, as Taylor took the edge of his sleeve to wipe away the tears from under my eyes.
I managed to half smile as I grabbed on tightly to the boy who loved me, and pulled him into a tight hug, feeling all of his muscles tense on top of me.
And I knew he wouldn't let go.
Practice this morning, sorry I'm not there to help ease your hangover. Take the Advil, and I hope you feel better soon. I should be back around 11.
ps: Chocolate cake in the fridge. Score.
pps: I found your camera, it's on the living room table. Pick it up?
ppps: I love you.
-T
I felt a grin appear on my face and I slid the note back onto the table, picking up the Advil and glass of water and downing the two pills and half of the water. ppps: I love you. He said he loved me. He loves me. I simply shook my head and smiled. I walked over to the kitchen and grabbed the chocolate cake out of the fridge, laughing a little at the smiley face Taylor had attempted to draw on the cake in whipped cream.
He tried so hard to make me forget about everything that has brought me down in the past couple of months, I don't know what kind of person it takes to be that kind of constant tower of support with almost no backup. I've been so involved with mourning my loss, that I've almost forgotten how hard this must be on Taylor too.
I knew that even if this romantic stint we've been going on ended for one reason or another, he'd always be my best friend. He'd always be there. He was stable. I could say anything to Taylor, and he'd always be supportive of me. As I walked towards the couch, I saw my camera laying on the table, and it made my head spin. I hadn't touched, or even looked, at my camera since Mickey died.
Mickey was the one who bought me my first camera, signed me up for my first course, and encouraged me to apply to Ryerson for the fall. Everything about my photography had to do with Mickey. I stared at my camera blankly. I didn't move. I finally took a deep breath, reached out for my camera, and held it for the first time in two months. It felt different now, for some reason, my camera felt heavier, like there was a bigger weight being carried around with it.
Attached to the shutter button was a yellow post-it note with the words Use me scribbled on in Taylor's hand writing. I hit the power button, and heard my camera begin to adjust itself to the lighting in my living room. I felt my hands tighten around the lens, as I turned it slowly to focus in on the piece of cake on the living room coffee table. My hands were trembling as I hit the shutter button, but my shakyness was quickly put to ease by the sound of my camera click. It was one of the most soothing sounds to me, and picture after picture that I took, I felt my camera get lighter, and my face start spreading into a wider smile.
By now, my hangover was mainly gone and I was scurrying around my place, snapping pictures of everything I found interesting. Taylor's discarded t-shirt from last night. My open lipstick tube in the bathroom. Mickey's jersey hanging peacefully in my closet. Finally, I headed back to the living room, snapped a few pictures of the discarded bottle of Jack Daniels on the ground.
As soon as the smell hit my nose, I felt myself get nauseous. I covered my mouth with my hand, tossed my camera on the couch, and sprinted to the washroom. My knees hit the cold tile floors, and I gripped onto the toilet seat tightly as I began throwing up bile by the bucket load. My eyes began to water up, and tears began to flow, something that always happened whenever I got sick. I heard the front door open as the bile kept coming. Then out of nowhere, Taylor was kneeling beside me, pulling my hair away from my face and rubbing my back in circles. I clenched onto his hand as I finally felt my nausea subside. I got up and wiped my mouth clean, as Taylor took the edge of his sleeve to wipe away the tears from under my eyes.
I managed to half smile as I grabbed on tightly to the boy who loved me, and pulled him into a tight hug, feeling all of his muscles tense on top of me.
And I knew he wouldn't let go.
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