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.
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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