Maybe I'm really awake? I thought to myself, staring at the supposed ceiling. My dreams loved to play fuckin' tricks on me, or so it seemed. Maybe I was just insane.

"Lisa, get the fuck up!" yelled Nathaniel. I blinked, then yawned. I was probably awake. "Mmmmmmm......." I groaned in frustration. "Do you want to miss the damned bus?" he pressed on. His voice was starkly pissy, but, as usual, I could sense the subtle yet unmistakably present undertone of affectionate concern in it as well. As pissed as he was, his pissed-off-ness was always out of love. "Fuck you, Nat," I smiled as I stretched out one arm, and tumbled my body over the other, strangling the sheets. I wanted him to make me get up. It worked. "Baby, this won't work every morning, you know," he facetiously whined. "But won't it?" I grinned, stretching my hands and my feet simultaneously towards the stars. Here he comes. I giggled hysterically, a little annoyed at how giddy I sounded. He lifted me by the torso, piled me over his shoulder like a sack of Christmas gifts, (or so I like to think) and plopped me down onto the bathroom counter. "Now please, for both our sakes, get the fuck dressed," he smiled.

Nat and I had only been living with each other for two weeks. I began to brush my teeth as he went back to sketching. We knew we weren't in love or anything, just loved each other. We had talked about it. Isn't that enough?