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posted by [personal profile] bibliophilia at 06:14am on 03/07/2007 under
Title: Comfortable
Author: [profile] ghani_atreides
Word Count: 852
Disclaimer: MINE. Take it and I will salt and burn you. Alive
Summary: she was the "right" kind of wrong
A/N: title from the song "Comfortable" by John Mayer

Angela was in the kitchen, from his prone position in the couch he could see her, silhouetted against the curtain, her curvaceous form moving gracefully, confident from one point to the other as the smells of her activities made his mouth water.

Good thing she could cook, it was that time of the year again, when his parents dropped by to check on him. It was September again. And this year he needed to make a good impression, last year’s near disaster was still weighting on him and he just knew his mother would be fussing about it the whole night. She was pesky like that. 

Angie’s voice sang through the kitchen’s door. He really didn’t like it when she spoke to him like that, like he was some sort of object, an adornment.

She wanted him to go pick up something at the supermarket, and handed him a piece of paper with way too many stuff written on. She was supposed to be cooking for his parents, what would she need a new bottle of shampoo for? Women! 

It was nice outside; so walking seemed like a good idea. Layla always liked to walk. Layla. September always reminded him of Layla. Her green eyes glowing with mirth when she laughed at him, her grey sweat pants, her inability to cook something else than pasta. Layla. The reason why he was in dire need to make up to his parents this September.

He really couldn’t remember what went wrong there, with them. She would remind him if she had to though. And didn’t it say a lot that he didn’t remember such a detail? 

It did. 

Angie was so perfect, flawless. He was not impressed at all, it was easy to be what people wanted you to be, for Angie it was easy. Layla was… something else. She was never what you expected her to be, and yeah it was tiresome sometimes, to be kept on your tiptoes all the time like that. Angie was more stable than that, but still, he was yet to get used to her body on his bed, the way she folded her legs and he had to keep a safe distance to avoid getting kicked, the smell of her hair on the pillow was not such a magnet the way Layla’s was, and he it still felt like it was the first time with her, but not in the thrilling sense of the first time, but in the awkward one, the one where she hid in the bathroom to change and wouldn’t get in the bed until he was covered and his light was out. Layla never cared for those things; usually she’d just fall asleep near him, within the reach of his warmth but not too close to steal his air. 

And he really should stop comparing them, because Angela was the right girl; that she wasn’t “the one” shouldn’t really matter. Should it? Yes it should.  

And it bugged him to no end that he couldn’t find the courage to tell her. It had to be the right time, the right way. Layla would have just said what bothered her, no anesthesia, no preparation, and that meant that he got to do the same with her. They always fought, well not all the time, in fact they rarely fought, but when they did, they did it good. Angela never fights with him, if something bothered her she’d try to change it and leave him to get used to it, like the way she rearranged all the furniture in his living room without asking, she just did it when he was out and when he came back, all he could do was find his couch and angle the tv to it. 

Things with Angela were easy. Things with Layla were comfortable. 

At this point he really wanted comfort back, simplicity. He was really sick of having to swallow all the curses he wished he could say because Angela found them distasteful, sick of being with someone who faked smiles and thought she could fool him. He was sick of being someone else. He was really tired of being someone around his friends and being somebody else around her.

He wanted Layla back. But he couldn’t have her because he was with Angela now, and Angela was the one that’d be a good mother, the one that could cook and make his mother happy. Angela was the right girl, the perfect girl. And she was good too, he admitted that, it really wasn’t her fault she wasn’t Layla, it wasn’t like she knew she was the wrong right one for him.

And oh, how much would Layla laugh with that “wrong right one” line of his.

Layla lived in the present. Angela lived for the future. Now he seemed to be living out of the past. But what sucked the most was that he really wanted Layla back.


location: couch
Mood:: 'accomplished' accomplished
Music:: Live like you were dying - Tim McGraw
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