𝐛𝐚𝐠𝐬 / 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐨

my head thumps against the silk pillows as i fall back into the comfort of my mattress. my phone won't stop buzzing and all i want to go is go back to sleep. after the longest five minutes of my life, it finally stops ringing, coming to an equally uncomfortable silence, though i'd rather that then the blaring of the repetitive tone.

the ceiling is even less entertaining than the wall. i close my eyes, trying to escape from the weight of waking up. it doesn't work very well. i groan, coming to the realization i am officially up for the day. it's 6:34 in the morning.

"oh shit." my mom was the one calling me. i fumble with my phone, my fingers not listening to what i tell them to do. "hey mom." i croak, finally returning her four calls. "jesus y/n, i thought you died out there. anyways. how are you?" why is she calling today after an entire week available to pick up the phone? her and dad have all but ghosted me, only sending the occasional, obligatory, message. 'how's the weather?', 'did you take my shirt?'.

"um, good?" i respond curtly. she had all day to do this, but thought just after sunrise was the perfect time? "that's good. listen, your dad and i were talking and we think maybe you should come home." she pauses inbetween her words, sighing. i can hear her swallow. is she joking right now? "you're kidding." i say in disbelief.

i don't want to go back home- in the most childish way possible. "no. we just believe it would be in your best interest to be with us over the summer. you know, help you figure some things out." she pulls away for a moment to whisper to dad. "what are you talking about?" how could it possibly be in my 'best interest' to come home? there is actually nothing of significance in that town. another boring summer, but this time spent miles away from any of my friends? no thanks.

"you seem lost, okay y/n? you're lost. you have no direction or goals for your future, and you can't live in the moment forever. life is coming, and life is coming fast. your fifteen, turning sixteen real soon. it's time to put your big girl pants on and put your future together." her tone becomes more stern, abandoning her previously passive approach. so kind of you, mom.

maybe i'm not super obsessed about my future like kyle and wendy are, but i don't want to be like them. i don't dwell about my future when i have my whole life to experience it. "why do you suddenly care about all this? and for the record, i'm doing just fine with my goals. not like you'd ask what i'm thinking though." i understand they care or whatever, but this is ridiculous. how would taking me home even change my outlook on life?

"don't even do that. i know you; well enough to understand that you are not focusing as much as you should on how your life is going to pan out. we won't be here to walk you through life forever." here she goes playing the death card again. she always does this when conversations get heated, bringing up her and dad's inevitable death. i wouldn't be suprised if she is immortal just to spite me for the rest of my life, constantly waving her passing above my head.

"i'm not coming home. i am focused. i know what i'm going to do, and how i'm going to do it. any other 'things' you and dad have been thinking about?" i snap back. i think i prefer her distant presence than her overbearing one. at least then i could just say she didn't care and not that she expressed it terribly. maybe i will put that in her obituary- when her and dad can no longer walk me through life. i'll wear my big girl pants to the funeral.

"alright y/n, you're the boss then. good night." she relents suddenly. her voice is smooth, but her words are grating. every minute i spend listening to her infuriates me. "it's seven in the morning. you woke me up." i continue. i probably could just hang up, but she called me. she can hang up.

"it's five here." she pauses. "well i'm going to let you go." she swiftly hangs up. no goodbyes. although i guess she said goodnight. i completely forgot about our time difference. what are her and dad even doing up? whatever. for a lawyer she sure is quick to end conflict.

it's time to actually start my day, and what a wonderful way to begin it! i can say i'm officially awake now. thanks for the wake up call mom and dad.

i wander around the house aimlessly, never sitting or standing somewhere for too long. i feel off balance and unsettled. i'm not in a mood for reflecting right now. i am happy with my life; my future and my past. i hope mom and dad go back to their regularly programmed conversations, our robotic lifeless talks are rather enjoyable some days.

i find myself in the kitchen, hungry. our cupboards and fridge are getting emptier and emptier every day, so i settle on soup. with noodles because for some reason this house has a surplus of pasta. i'm getting kind of tired of spaghetti.

a gentle knock graces the door. a figure is visible through the paned glass window. i pause my carrot-chopping to open the door, and then i'm met by craig. "hey y/n." he stands stiffly on the porch. "hi craig. do you want to come in?" i ask, still holding the door open. "yeah. thanks." he takes his shoes off at the door. he's very strict about that. it's kind of weird but endearing at the same time.

"any particular reason for you showing up?" maybe he's arguing with tweek again. that seems to be the usual lately. he exhales loudly then responds positively. "yep. heidi." oh really? his voice is apathetic. "you seem excited." he rests against the counter, eyes bouncing around the room studying his surroundings. "sure." the words leave his mouth like it physically pains him to speak.

it's silent for a moment besides craig's fingers tapping against the marble counters. "music?" my eyes trail to my phone next to him. "it's your house." he shrugs, following my line of sight. "you pick the song." i return to my soup.

"are you sure?" he asks, looking up from my phone to gain my approval. i simply nod my head. i don't see how this is a big deal. "password is 1111." i guess my soup is just going to be a vegetable soup, since there is no meat in the fridge or freezer. craig's tapping is replaced by the voice of morrisey singing 'cemetery gates'. my favorite smiths song.

"you remembered!" i turn around from the stove to craig, who's smile reaches his eyes twice as vividly. "it's a good song." he agrees, ignoring what i said for the better part of its sentiment. "you're too sweet, craig." in the corner of my eye i notice bebe coming down the steps.

"bebe!" i greet cheerfully. craig helped clear my head and i feel more grounded than before. and personable. even though it's almost eleven it's surprising to see her up this early. she's not much of a morning person. i don't think she knows craig's here. she's in her robe.

"what?" she asks, her hand racing to her face. she looks just fine, but i don't think she likes craig enough for this to be intentional. but the day is full of surprises! "hey bebe." he makes his presence known to her, understanding that she doesn't realize he's there.

her eyes slowly drift to him. "hey craig." she says through gritted teeth. "i just came for a cucumber." she directs her attention back toward me, asking me to cut a cucumber for her. i didn't even think she liked them but i oblige, handing her the strange request. craig makes a crude comment, which falls on hearing ears.

"shut up!" she shouts back. she's been saying that a lot lately. we both kind of laugh. "i didn't think she'd hear me." we talk a little longer, long enough to see bebe out. eventually heidi makes her way down the steps, and she leaves with craig. they are an interesting pair, but i think they'll be cute together.

my mind lulls over the conversation with my mom. why is her first phone call in a week to me a lecture? she didn't think to ask me how i was feeling about my own future? obviously i'm not coming home. how involved was my dad in this? i would expect this from my mom, but not dad. he would know better than anyone about embracing uncertainty and going where the wind takes you. he hasn't held a job longer than six months since i was born. a 'dabbler', he calls himself.

i'm tired of being in the house. i should have left with bebe.

before i can process what i'm doing, i've sent a text to kenny asking to hang out. he's fun, and makes for a good distraction if last night is any evidence. god- bebe and wendy are so ridiculous. i don't even think wendy came home last night, but maybe that's for the better.

i dish out my finished soup and wait around for kenny to respond to my message. it's so humiliating to constantly check your phone for one text. i feel like a dog. i stopped chasing after people after my meaningless situationships in middle school. i don't have any interest in ebb and flow attachment, i want something steady or nothing at all.

maybe i'll loosen up for the summer.

as i rinse out of my bowl, my screen lights up.

y: are you busy?
k: U miss me already ?
y: something like that

k: Come over, I can kick stan out
y: i don't want to intrude now
k: U won't be
k: Come overrrrrrr
y: if you insist!!

if i would have known he was hanging out with stan already i wouldn't have asked, not that i don't like stan. it's just awkward showing up mostly uninvited.

i lace up my converse and head out, leaving butters to fend for himself. i notice the warmth of the air immediately as i step outside. the sun shines brightly against the island, reflecting against the green of the oak trees and the blue of the ocean water. it's not a sticky type of heat thanks to the light breeze. tall grasses wave in the wind, brushing against my shins as i walk the gravelly path towards hawthorn. it's a perfect summer day in the simplest sense.

maybe i'll move to new england when i'm older. i could see myself getting used to the coastal cliffs and sandy beaches. i think my favorite characteristic of the island are the large masses of stone that peak through the water and the soothing crashing of the waves against them loudly at night. it's calming, like i'm melting into the ocean.

i ring hawthorn's doorbell. i wonder why our house doesn't have one, but it doesn't matter because we have the best name. wavecrest. i wonder who named the houses. "y/n!" kenny exclaims, racing down the steps of their lengthy staircase to greet me. kyle holds the door open for me.

"hi kyle." i greet, stepping into the home. he doesn't have time to respond before kenny is dragging me up the steps down the hallway. his room is the first one in the corridor. there is a couple stickers in the farthest right hand corner of the wooden door, which i don't think were there before. a new addition from kenny.

his room is pretty clean. his bed notably doesn't have any covers on it, just a bedsheet and some pillows. stan is sitting on a burnt orange carpet centered in the middle of the room. there is a case of waters in the corner near his closet. his room isn't as decorated as mine, in fact it only has the bare minimum. a bed, a nightstand, a carpet, and a clock. kenny's contribution to the area ends at the case of water and a couple empty bottles on a shelf. "what are those from?" i ask, pointing to the various coloured glasses.

"oh you know, decoration." he shrugs, joining stan. well that's unique. he pats a spot next to him, so i sit down too. it's quiet for a moment before kenny starts talking again. "how is hellhouse, y/n?" he raises his eyebrows at 'hellhouse'. what is that? "what?" i smile confused. stan shakes his head at kenny. "that's what we call your guys house. cause, you know-bebe and wendy together." oh. they actually keep it quite civil at the house apart from that one time. "i guess they prefer public fights." bebe does love an audience.

"me too." he laughs. stan just smiles. "the whole thing is so crazy." he continues, "clyde- really?" that's true. clyde is not my type, but i won't say he's ugly. just not tempting enough to make me cheat and betray the people i'm closest to. "honestly." stan quips, taking a sit of his water. him and kenny both have two. it's not that hot out if we are being real here.

"that's why hookups do it best. you have fun without dumb relationship shit. it's a win-win." i don't want to say kenny gets around, but kenny gets around. he'll mess with a girl for a week, find a new one, go back to the old one, and repeat the cycle. he's got like six girls on rotation. half are cheerleaders. half are in love with him. "how come you don't commit, ever?" stan asks, pushing his bottle to the pile at his left.

"none of them ever feel right." kenny says plainly, no infliction in his voice. "in what way?" kenny hits his shoulder but responds anyways. "come on man! both." stan chuckles, jokingly rubbing his arm. "so like, you just don't love them?" he continues, trying to understand kenny's thought process. you think kenny would have had at least one serious relationship but he's always been like this.

"i don't think so. i didn't have much of an example ever." the tone of the conversation stays light-hearted, but enters a more serious domain. they conversate freely, not caring how little they know me. they're very open. "i understand that. i think i love wendy though." stan adds, thinking carefully on his words.

"love, not love-d?" i join, emphasis on the 'd'. i guess it takes a while to move on, but him and wendy weren't stable in the first place. "love doesn't go away. if you love someone it doesn't matter what happens; you still feel that gravitational pull to be around them." he speaks genuinely (and mostly to kenny). he doesn't seem as crushed by her leaving as he did before. like when he broke into my house and sat on my balcony. "even if they cheated on you with your center and friend?" stan stares pointedly at him. "dude." he says and kenny raises his hands up in surrender. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry."

the conversation changes from wendy to south park, then to other random shit. they really just speak every thought on their mind.

"are you guys hungry?" kenny asks after a beat of silence. it's been awhile since at least one person wasn't talking. "i actually think i'm going to head out." i stand up slowly, my knees aching from sitting so long. it's been like two- three hours? i should probably get home, make some dinner for my babies. "really?" stan asks, looking up at me. i nod my head and kenny walks me back to the door. "thanks for letting me come kenny." i realize now i didn't take my shoes off. "we'll do something again soon, right? just us." he adds at the end, smiling.

"yeah." i agree simply, waving goodbye. "i'm already missing you!" he shouts out the open door, then returns my gesture. he's so funny.

i check my phone quickly, noting the time. i still have a couple hours before dinner so maybe i'll head to the beach. i think that's where bebe was going too, but i didn't listen to her all that much.

i take a sharp left and turn to the rocky beach between our houses. it's a nice pit stop even though it's a rather weak hangout spot. not very comfortable, and lots of crabs rest underneath the stones. it's beautiful nonetheless, and the crabs are funny. like when they pinched kenny.

the entire length of the shore is complety rock, and there's more within the ocean. we aren't supposed to swim in this area because of the sharper peaks that form from the giant rocks, but i don't plan on swimming near them. i just want to see them. a couple sharper rocks line the shallow part of the bay, but the majority are smooth thanks to the current.

maybe i'll be like a geologist or something. rocks are cool.

"y/n?" a nasally voice shouts hesitantly from the beach. it's craig standing at the border between the ocean and the shore, water lapping at his feet. i thought he was supposed to be with heidi. "where's heidi?" i ask, not needing to shout. i wasn't that far away.

"hello to you too." he rolls his eyes. "i took her home half an hour ago." he explains, wiping his wet hands on his graphic t-shirt. it's pete the cat with an electric guitar and some stars around him. his name is written small near the hem of the shirt, which leads me to believe it's from tweeks artsy phase.

he made t-shirts for awhile, designing the graphics and then using this little machine to screen-print them. it was a lucrative buisness, i don't know why he stopped. maybe it's cause he got his other job working at the cafe.

i walk carefully over to him, stumbling with each roll of a stone. i see why we aren't really supposed to be over here. "what are you doing here?" he asks me in return. "not sure." i respond, smiling. he turns back around to face the ocean.

"it's better at sunset." he says quietly. isn't everything? "do you come here often?" i've never seen him here, but i've never looked either. "sometimes." he shrugs, bending down to pick up a rock from his pile. it's perfectly smooth and oval in shape (as most of them are). he skips it across the plane of water, ripples breaking the stillness of ocean.

"the rocks farther out work better." that explains his discarded shoes. he offers me a stone, but i decline. i'll get my own. he only has a couple left anyways. i wish i wouldn't have worn sneakers now, but i suppose they're already wet. "suit yourself." he watches me as i inch closer towards the water.

i don't get very far before i fall over. i use my hands to catch my fall, which doesn't work very well as they skid over the rocky seabed. my hands turn over each slime-covered stone, and my clothes are soaked in the attempt to stabilize myself. i'm embarassed. this fucking sucks.

"are you okay?" craig questions me concerned, wading through the shallow five inches of water. he stands infront of me, offering his arm. "no, no no. i'm fine. see?" i pull myself up, leaving my dignity to wash away with the slow drift of the current. this is so lame.

"y/n. are you serious?" my eyes follow his, which are trailing down my arms. i notice the stinging sensation as i look down where i'm met by a series of little wounds, mainly on my hands. large abrasians on my palms are coated with diluted blood, and other scratches litter my wrists and forearm. they slowly swell with blood as the water washed away the majority of the initial scrapes bearings.

i didn't feel them when i fell, but they hurt like hell now. like someone poured vinegar on the scrapes. the skin around my palms is irritated and burns, and feels incredibly hot where my skin is actually damaged.

"give me your hand." craig commands, holding out his own. his voice is gentle and caring, but he's distressed and serious nonetheless. "i'll stain your clothes though- i can't." i shake my hands off in an attempt to subside the pain. "stain them, i don't care." he shakes his head, grabbing my hand carefully after i stop my useless waving of them.

his touch is benevolent, cautiously avoiding every area with open skin. "it's just a scratch." i explain. i avoid looking at my hands, instead focusing on the pine trees around the