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Post by ronnie on Mar 11, 2011 23:30:21 GMT -5
 The constant sound of splashing slush somehow seemed to over lap the sound of heavy metal music that flowed into Ronnie's ears while he jogged. His worn down high-tops, which he had to admit weren't exactly suitable for jogging anyhow, was making contact with any remaining snow left laying on the roads, and/or side walks, that had slowly over time began to melt into slush. He despised slush. He hated how disgusting it made the town look. He hated how it sounded when cars passed. He hated how damp it made his shoes and feet when he decided to walk instead of drive around. It was just over all disgusting, and with winter coming to an end, he was overly excited for it to all be over. His need for soccer season to start up again was strong, because he could feel the weight slowly reserving spots for when his metabolism decided to come to a hault from lack of excersize. With the amount of eating he did, he needed his daily work outs just to keep his heart pumping.His sweats bagged off him, as did the hoodie he wore over top, protecting his skin from the cold. Just a few more minutes and he'd be back home, safely out of the cold and dampness. He could feel the heels of his feet begin to ache, and it was beginning to bother him, knowing it had been a wrong decision to go for a run without putting his running shoes on.
Ronnie's visit at home was a quick one, it being after noon, his stomach began to show it's impatience by growling at an obnoxious level, but he merely patted it, hoping it may put his stomach at ease. There was an over flow of food in his fridge, never once had he ever had to worry about if he opened the fridge door, if there'd be enough food for him to pig out on. He just chose not to eat at home, to plug up his system by stuffing cheeseburger after cheeseburger down his throat because he absolutely loved the taste of it. Even the thought of a cheeseburger made him want to go get one. His puppy-dog eyes glanced over at the roman-numerals clock, taking a moment to figure out what time it really was, making note that he must mention to his mother or father to be like normal people and get a clock with up-to-date numbers on it, because his mind just could not compute such madness. Grabbing his car keys as he did just that, he headed out the door without showing signs to the rest of his family of his return.
Sitting inside the tiny green car he called his own, Ronnie took the time to grab some clothes from the back seat and change into them. What used to be a hassle soon became a habit, changing in the car no matter where he was. His neighbours often complained about not wanting to look outside their window only to see a half naked boy in his car getting changed, that he should reserve that for more private places, but he simply did not give a flying fuck. But over the months of starting this new routine, he got the hang of it. Routing through his mass of mess that devoured the back seat for black skinny jeans that were a size too big for him so they'd bag off him, as well as exchanged the over-sized hoodie with an over-sized misfits shirt. No longer did he sit there and wonder how many eyes were staring him down, watching as he changed. He no longer thought of the pedophiles mowing their lawns that watched him while he jogged every day, that could be taking pictures of him at that moment. He went on carefree, starting up his car and backing up out of his drive way.
The trip to McDonalds was a short one, not living too far away that it'd take ages to get there, but a reasonably length of time. He set the bag that contained a McChicken, as well as an upsized fries, and set his large fruit smoothie in the cupholder in between the two front seats. He was planning on just going straight home, blasting some A Day To Remember, and just smoke a joint then take a nap, or something, but when his eyes fell on the overly familiar home of Derek Angel, he couldn't help but pull into the drive way. Grabbing his food, he got out, locking his car and stuffed his keeys into his back pocket, letting them hang from it like a lot of guys tend to do. He was not shy about entering the home, knowing very well he wouldn't be greeted by parents who disagreed with his rude enterance, because they never seemed to be home when Ronnie was around. But shoving the idea of asking Derek to the back of his mind, he walked in, kicking his shoes off and closing the door behind him.
" Derek? " he called out, crashing on the couch, and putting his feet up on the coffee table before shoving a couple of fries in his mouth. There had been more than one occasion where Ronnie had sat around Derek's house before even realizing that Derek wasn't even home, but over time, he had grown used to it.
WORD COUNT: nine hundred and one
SONG i'm made of wax, larry, what are you made of - a day to remember
NOTES: this was meant to be short... but meh.
TAGS: derekderekderek
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