Marshall woke to find himself in a bed that wasn't his own, immersed in someone else's arms. There was no rooster crow, no buzz of an alarm clock, no flash of light blinding him from a nearby window. Nothing to tell him it was morning. Still he knew it was morning. Just as he knew that something felt right, being here, in another's arms, just laying. And by knowing that he felt right, he knew something must be very, very wrong. And there you have it. A list of all of things Marshall currently knew.
He didn't know any of the important things of course, like what day, even what time it was. Did this room have no clocks at all?
"Bubba," he hissed to the body next to him, the body that was latched on so strongly, as if lapping up his life-force (among other things).
To which the body in question retorted,"Shut up."
His eyes were glued shut, and his voice tumbled in a way that made Marshall wonder if he was really awake.
"I just wanted to know what ti-"
"God, do you even have ears? Go back to sleep."
Perhaps it was the high-quality bed sheets, or the overpriced pillow on which he now rested his head, but Marshall tried his hardest to oblige. He tried to sleep the only way he knew how, laying still with eyes squeezed shut. Music would have helped. Also not having a near-strangers hands all over his naked body. Also not having a mind that was always racing, thinking about how this would all backfire and blow up in his face.
"Do you have any music?"
Bubba groaned, yanking the sheet away from Marshall, "Fine, run around naked like a loon and see if I care. While you're at it you can fix those shelves." He still wasn't really listening. Was he always this impossibly dreadful in the morning? Marshall found himself wanting to test this theory.
Marshall gazed up at the ceiling for a moment, noticing how the creamy coat of paint that graced it looked much softer and mesmerizing than it had just yesterday evening. Inhaling, he found that the air, too, had a different scent about it, one more welcoming to his nostrils. Breakfast maybe? At least in the little things such as these, he could find comfort.
Slipping out of bed he also quickly noted a change in the texture of the carpet, it was softer now then before. Had he made himself at home? Did he even believe in home? What price would he pay for getting so comfortable at the house of the enemy? All legitimate questions. The majority of his clothes he found curled bashfully at the foot of the bed, just as shy and meek as he. Key word: Majority.
"Very funny."
"Mm? What did I say?" He still seemed relatively out of it, but the key word here was seem.
"My underwear."
"No dear, I seriously doubt I said that. It doesn't sound like me at all."
Marshall found himself growing increasingly frustrated by this, submerged once more in the "bad feeling". He didn't have time for this, probably. Simone would be getting worried, he had homework to do. As much as he wanted to stay here and engage in half-asleep quarrels all day, it just wasn't logical. His phone was miraculously still in one piece, despite its little late night adventure. He opened it wide now, screen illuminating his face. In fairness to Bubba, the day was still significantly young, and they wouldn't have school for a few more hours. Maybe he had just been really tired.
Still, Marshall was always tired, and he never did such outlandish things as sleep in when he had guests over. Or..he wouldn't have, if he ever had guests. And wasn't Bubba worried about what his company might get into? Shouldn't he be more on his feet, just for the sake of himself?
You're overthinking it. He's only human, and he gets tired like everyone else.
Marshall now propped his phone against his ear. The longer it sat there, the more his eyes widened. He wasn't feeling so comfortable anymore. He slapped his phone shut, and once more returned to Bubba's side. He shook his half-conscious body, once. Twice. Three times.
"Hey, I need a ride."
Definitely breakfast he was smelling. His stomach emitted a weak grumble in response. But he didn't have the time, and he didn't have the right. By the fifth shake, Bubba was stirring. He opened his eyes, and Marshall forgot the extent of his urgency for a second. Those goddamn eyes. Definitely one of his best features, or at least the most honest.
"What, Marshall?"he asked, "What more could you possibly want?"
It was a twisted thing to say, as if Lee were the one doing the using and not the other way around. As if Marshall had asked for his life to become this way, or asked for anything really, other than a ride to the hospital. He didn't even have a mean tone about him yet, his voice was still soft enough to match the early hours, but the words stung all the same.
"I need a ride."
"Jesus fuck, it can't be much later than 5:00."
"My mom is-"
But Bubba didn't let him finish. He never did. He had a real problem with interrupting, like any silence that wasn't filled by his own tongue or body just wasn't good enough.
"Ah, I get it. Mommy needs a liquor run."
Marshall recoiled a little at that. It hurt more than expected. Instead of thickening, his skin was raw each and every time. He could already feel the shakes coming in. But he wasn't going to lose it, not hear of all places. He wouldn't give his present company such immense satisfaction as this. And more importantly, he didn't have time. He finished getting dressed with the only clothes he had left.
"Never mind" he said, and then he was gone before his foot even hit the pavement.
