Nate
for Katie Lynn, or DramaticStarlet.
Who never wanted it, but I wanted it for her.
And I'm posting because she posted her fic inspired by Marie' Digby's Voice on the Radio, the song I always cry to, too.
I miss the guy I have never even met. And I hope that comes through.
It's not even close to my best work, but it's really close to my heart.
(I'm going to add a link to a new story I've posted in the JB Fanfiction Archives in my profile, for anyone interested.)
They're not my guys anymore
They're not my guys anymore.
I don't know them.
But maybe I never did.
(I'm not afraid of heights, I'm afraid of falling.)
I can feel my throat closing up and tears stinging my eyes, but I just turn over in my bed, snuggling closer into my bed. My mousy brown hair falls over my face a little, but I ignore it and breathe in the smell of my favorite shampoo.
My bed creaks in protest as I shift again. I sniff quietly. I can hear my clock ticking comfortingly. And I shut my eyes against the darkness.
(I'm not scared of the dark; I'm just scared of what's in it.)
He's not the Fro Bro anymore. He's not Mr. President.
He's not DJ Danger anymore. He's changed, and I certainly don't like it.
He's not KJ2. Or, he is. But he's not mine, not like it never was.
I can feel the dampness against my eyelashes. And I bite my lower lip, pictures of them flashing behind my eyelids, the screams of all those millions of girls ringing in my ears, fresh from that night.
I don't want to be like those girls.
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My phone rings, happily beeping the ringtone I had picked out the other day.
I flail out my arm, flinging my fingers everywhere for my cell on my nightstand. I can feel the smooth, cool metal of it and pick it up, lifting my head and pressing it to my ear after pushing the answer button.
"Hello?" In an attempt to mask my almost crying, I clear my throat once.
"Hey, Katie. You sound tired. You can't be going to sleep now, it's only seven!"
The cheerful voice resounds in my ear. And I know I definitely won't be getting to sleep. Not now. Not after he's called.
A shaky smile spreads across my lips. I can't think. "I know Nate. But I haven't been feeling great."
After a short pause, he speaks again. "I miss you."
My voice is shaky, and when I spoke before, I was surprised he didn't seem to notice. I can almost laugh. And I do.
Ripping through my lungs like a cough, I laugh, tears streaming down my face. I scrunch my arms in the blanket, bringing them to my chest. My fingers clench themselves, bunching the cloth of my large t-shirt in my free hand. I hear him ask me if I'm alright, if I'm okay. But I don't answer right away, because after I started to, I can't stop anymore, even though I need to breathe and my cheeks hurt from the strain of smiling.
"I love you, Nate."
(I'm not terrified of love; I'm terrified of not being loved back.)
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"A fourteen-year-old girl was found dead in her bed this morning. Her name was Kathryn Susan Lynn.
"There is no known cause of the death, but when she was discovered, on her pillow next to her was a small blood stain. Her eyes were shut, her cheeks tear-stained, and a smile on her lips. The blood was later to be found as coughed up from her mouth.
"And her cell phone, on her bedside table, was lit up, showing a missed call."
The middle part, the phone call, was a hallucination, for anyone who doesn't get it. And I don't actually know DramaticStarlet's full name. Sorry. :c. I made it up, even if it's stupid.