Bailey (Prose from when I was 18)

You wake up. Head throbbing. Mouth dry. Clothed only in boxers. The most stunningly beautiful person in any world is snuggled up tight against you. She purrs softly: fast asleep. This is your life, Kyle Blake. You arm doesn’t dare move. Despite a few minor details, the memory of the past night remains in tact. Nothing happened. You fell asleep spooning with you best friend. The only person in the world that you give a fuck about, her skins pressed into yours. The meshed hands, intertwined legs. This is Kyle’s wake up call
You attempt to get up, but reality, sobriety keep you there. Marissa would kill you if she saw this. She’d go to the kitchen, grab a knife and cut off your balls. She would take the ice pick and chip, chip, chip away at your dick. Drew and Riley, they would tell you it’s about fucking time. Give you high-fives. Nothing happened. You saw into each others souls and fell asleep all over cheap beer. This was just another Thursday night to you two. You’ve had hundreds of these. This was the norm. The average. This is your Friday morning Kyle.
10:42. You’ve been awake for sixty-three minutes, fifteen seconds. Head still throbbing. At least you can count on your headaches to stick with you. A yawn invades your body. Starting at your nicotine-stained teeth down your callous tongue, all the way to your horrifically empty stomach. An impulse hits your overworked and under-paid brain. It goes straight to your heart. Emotion, logic’s distant, retarded cousin, hits you out of nowhere. Like a brick to your back. It’s been awhile. If you could remember the last time you felt anything, if ever, you could recognize it easier. Apathy is the new ecstasy. A heavy sigh drops to your long-winded lungs. Your lips slowly tremble and move to the sea of peach. Nerves conquer you. You feel the skin against your slightly quivering lips. Suddenly your twelve all over. Your second first kiss. You hit her on her neck. Contact. The brain sends an emergency signal. S.O.S. 911! Help, somebody. God, please! Stop! If only you had a choice. The heart intercepts the message and destroys it. You move to her lips. You free your arm. It’s half asleep. Pins and needles. The first thing it feels is Goddess Bailey’s soft skin. A light brush on the cheek. A shock down your spine. Close your desolate eyes. Breathe in. Take the plunge. Lip to lip. Soul to soul. You’re twelve again. Butterfly-infested stomach. Your second first kiss.
The blonde responds warmly. It must be a dream, she must be fast asleep. They must be sixteen. They must be crazy still, back at the old nuthouse. That’s what she dreams of every night. Her nightly visit of perfection. In her dreams, she’s married with two completely neurotic kids. Her husband couldn’t be more amazing. In her fantasyland, Disney World, Never-never land, she’s with him. She can feel his lips. Slowly and stealthily her tongue advances into foreign territory. It feels so real, so right, so perfect, but it’s over in an instant. Before it ever started, it was decimated and demolished. An eternity in a moment. She keeps her lips slightly ajar. The words, “I love you Kyle” escape without warning. Kyle Blake, this is your true love.
You ears hear this. It travels up to cranial territory and your aortic pump simultaneously. Another battle, this time for all the marbles. Double or nothing. The words, “I love you too Bay” shoot up out of the lowest crevice of your heart. They blast out of your mouth like a loaded canon. Your brain finally comes back from his coffee break. Mocha Java Espresso. Fully aware. Shock and awe. Rejuvenated. It’s over. You stop. An eternity in a moment. Sixty two seconds. You’re twelve. You’re sixteen. You’re twenty-one. Kyle Blake, this is your wake up call.