#that and writing aussie talk was a hurdle lol

[gunk-ice-tea]

They do share a burden and it's being misinterpreted (mostly by junkers) an atrocious shitpost under the cut

Personally i think he rocks the resting bitch face look 24/7

slay

[atlaswriting]

My heart is a hummingbird trapped inside my chest, the quick flutters cause my head to spin—or it’s being so close to Abram without the aid of alcohol that has bile burning up my throat.

“You should see the other guy.” He says in his rough, fading Boston accent.

Ellie rolls her eyes, compulsively clicking and unclicking her pen, “It was a table and Abram lost.”

“Why would you hit a table?”

“Because Brody is a piece of shit.” Ellie says, now slamming her pen on top of the open notebook. She glances at Abram, offering an apologetic look—but he’s too busy trying to unclench his balled up fists.

The professor walks in wearing a brown tweed jacket, eye bags that would cost extra at an airport and a coffee cup more than likely filled with whiskey. He writes his name on the board in barely legible script, telling us to call him Oscar since Mr. Keating was his father.

Middle aged hands grab both sides of the lectern as he leans forward, “Every word is a subtle act of revolution.” He licks his lips, “We can shape them however we want—good, bad—words are more deadly than bullets and I’ve never seen a knife cut someone as quick. Anyone who tells you differently is either dead or a moron.”

Both Ellie and I lean forward in our seats, falling into his voice like a siren’s call. Oscar thumbs through the text book, halfway through the two hour class throwing it on top of his desk, “We shouldn’t read and write because it’s what the university tells us we should—you don’t learn anything in life by being told what to do. You should read and write because you’re human—and to be human is to be passionate, creative.” He rattles off authors; his favorite works by them and why they were a big fuck you to culture when they wrote them.

I look down at Abram’s hands on the desk, how close it was to mine and how my fingers ache to touch his. Sliding my arm centimeters closer, I allow the soft graze of my pinky finger to touch the bruising skin of his knuckles—my own gentle act of rebellion despite ( to spite ) the deafening war inside my head.

Before we leave, he tells us to write a paper on our favorite book and how the author meant the work as a rebellion to societal norms.

♡ ♡ ♡

“Do you want to grab something to eat?” Abram asks after we leave the lecture hall. My fingers are still burning from where they made contact with his skin that I barely hear him. “Elise?”

I pull back to reality, forcing my eyes away from his hand and to his face, “I shouldn’t. I have two essays to write and I need to go over my notes for a class I haven’t even started yet.”

“But you need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Have you eaten today?”

“Abram.”

“I think I’m in love,” Ellie joins us and I can finally start breathing again. “Isn’t he great? Elise, don’t you think Oscar is great. I could listen to him talk all day.”

“Maybe he needs an assistant?” I ask, crinkling my nose, “You can offer to help grade his papers for him.”

Ellie laughs, “I didn’t see a wedding ring.” She looks between Abram and I, “what are you guys doing now? I have another class in fifteen minutes.”

“I was just asking Elise if she wanted to get something to eat—,”

“—but I have things to do and I need to find a bathroom, I’ve been drinking so much water lately.”

“Are you sure?” Ellie asks, “You look like your starving. I think you should go. There’s an In n Out not even five minutes from here. Maybe you can find a bathroom there?”

My face contorts into horror as I stare back at Ellie who could hardly contain herself with laughter. She gives Abram a gentle nudge closer to me with my hip, “Eat a burger for me while I go die in this class.”

When she’s gone, I look up at Abram, “Let me find a bathroom here and then I guess we can go.”

♡ ♡ ♡

I hear my name echo through the halls just as Abram and I near the end of it—silence sitting between us like a thick fog. I turn back to the sound, Justin taking his time to catch up to us, “Where are you going? I thought we had plans to head to the library?” he looks toward Abram, staring over his thickly rimmed round glasses, “Knox is waiting but Jolie had another class with that loud friend of yours, the small one. J'oublie le nom de la fille.”

“Ellie. And we’re just going to grab something to eat and a place nearby.”

“Où? Nous pouvons y aller aussi.”

“In n Out—,”

Justin’s lip pulled back over teeth and he clicks the top of his mouth, “I didn’t think you eat meat anymore,” he looks toward Abram, “Elise stopped eating meat this summer, she was quite fond of that, no?” His attention falls back onto me and I feel heat rise to my cheeks.

“The day Hell freezes over is the day Elise would stop eating meat. Have you ever seen her near a burger? I don’t think she even stops to breathe.” Abram inches toward Justin, hand wrapping around the strap of his bag so tightly his knuckles go white.

“There must be a lot you don’t know about Elise,” Justin grins, running his hands through his hair, “elle n'est pas la fille que vous avez laissée avec un cœur brisé.” He speaks slowly, punctuating each word with arrogance.

Abram looks from me to Justin, cheek and ears turning blood red—skeletons from the past sneaking out of the closet like dirty secrets. “I guess you’re right.” He seethes, “Elise, forget about lunch. I have something to do.”

♡ ♡ ♡

Pride sits like stomach acid in my belly, it rises up my throat, clinging and burning everything it touches.

Three times I raise my fist to the door and almost knock, three times I pace back and forth trying to tame pride like a beast—push her back into her cage and sedate her.

Three times I raise my fist to the door and almost tell Abram I love him.

♡ ♡ ♡

Come by tonight. Bring food. I’m starving

I can’t. I’m writing.

You’re writing again? The writer’s block is gone?

Yeah. For some reason every since I moved here, I’ve had all this inspiration.

Ever since you saw Abram again, you mean.

Ellie. No. It’s just a coincidence.

The universe is rarely so lazy. But seriously, come over, please?

Bring In N Out.  I haven’t eaten today. Pity me.

Okay, let me write a couple hundred more words and I’ll be over.

Is Abram there.

No. He went out with some girl he met at practice today.

He went out with someone?

Yeah. Super cute, too. But she was a ducks fan, so how much taste can she really have?

I’m coming over. And bringing wine.

♡ ♡ ♡

I show up at Ellie’s house an hour later. Bags of fast food in my hand and a bottle of wine under my arm, I try knocking. Once, twice, and on the third knock I walk in, kicking the door closed behind me.

“Jesus, Ellie, are you deaf? I swear your neighbors down the hall probably heard me.”

“Ellie’s not here.” I turn at his voice, a cold chill running down my spine. Abram stands between the hall and the living room, shirtless and far more tempting than the animal style fries in my hands.

“What do you mean she’s not here? She texts me not even two hours ago and told me to come over.”

Abram shrugs, “She never came back after her classes.”

Look down at the food and wine, “I’m going to kill her.” I sigh, dropping the bags onto the table, “Are you hungry?”

♡ ♡ ♡

We aren’t friends anymore.

Not sorry.

I’ll be out for a few more hours so you guys have plenty of time to…

Ellie! It isn’t going to happen.

Never say never.

I’m over him.

Lol. Yeah. And I’m the Queen of England.

I hate you.

Xoxo.

♡ ♡ ♡

“I’m sorry about Justin,” I break the silence. Reaching forward I take a mouthful of wine, “He can be an ass sometimes, but he isn’t all bad. He was born in Paris so he thinks he’s better than everyone else.” I grin, “It’s nothing personal.”

“It sure sounded personal. When did you start dating?”

I snort into my burger, “We haven’t—we won’t. We’ve never even kissed.”

Abram nods, eyes falling down to his food and we continue to eat in silence. When we’re done, he throws the trash away and looks at me, “Do you want to stay for a movie? I was going to watch Pride and Prejudice alone but I don’t care if you stay.”

“I don’t think I should—,”

“It’s just a movie.”

It’s never just with Abram and I, I want to say, the words flirting with the edge of my tongue. I choose to swallow them down and stand up, “I have nothing else to do.” I glance toward the wine, wishing I could finish the bottle and build up some courage. I sit next to him on the couch, body shaking with anticipation and hesitance, “Can you put a shirt on, though?”

“It’s like 90 degrees.”

♡ ♡ ♡

There’s enough room for Jesus between us on the couch and even though the movie’s playing and it’s my favorite and I can’t focus on anything except Abram. The subtle clench of his jaw and how every few minutes he bites his bottom lip.

My nails press into the palm of my hands as I try to atone for the wicked thoughts that seep like darkness into my head. Warmth spreads through my chest and just as Lizzie and Mr. Darcy begin arguing over their pride, I quiet mine—hurdling toward Abram like a comet, I lean over him, knees pressed to the couch, thighs tightening around his legs.

My thumb runs over his bottom lip and my breath hitches in my throat. I lean down, bring my lips dangerously close to his—I can feel myself tempt the fire, willing to get burned, to be burned for him.

“Tell me I shouldn’t.” I say, never more sober than in this moment. “It’s wrong, right?” Fingers run through his hair and I pull his head back a little, his mouth parts and I find the hunger grow wild, “We aren’t right for each other.” I tell him, knowing how wrong that truly is.