#waves1x1

😳 : an embarrassing voicemail

[madison]: Hiiii baby. It’s Madison.

[danica]: She has caller I.D., dumbass. 

[madison]: Alright, rude. Well, Dan and I took some of these edibles she had an hour or so ago and fuuuuck. They’re hitting me like a truck.

[danica]: Lightweight!

[madison]: Can you please stop being mean to me and let me leave my girl a voicemail in peace? Sheesh...isn’t weed supposed to make people friendlier? Hey! Dan just punched my arm. But she’s weak so it didn’t even feel like anything and the jokes on her...what was I saying? Shit...I’m so hungry I think we’re gonna order burritos, which is nice. Right now I’m just eating peanut butter out of the jar and feeling pretty good about it. Okay, gimmie a call when you get this, you’re so beautiful and I love you. Talk to you soon.” 

🥴 : a drunk voicemail

🥱 : a sleepy voicemail

“Hey Al. Sorry for calling you so early, but I’m getting to Amtrak now to come down to New York. I figured you might still be asleep but I’m so excited to see you so I thought I’d try. Dad and I are waiting for the track to be called. I’ve never actually been on Amtrak before, but I do like trains so I hope it’ll be comfortable. I got some Dunkin’ coffee and what I like most about it is the same exact order I get tastes different every time...I’m hoping all the caramel I put in this thing gives me a little sugar rush ‘cause I’m really tired. I was up all night thinking about how I couldn’t wait to come to New York to see you--No, Dad I’m leaving Alessandra a voicemail, ‘cause it’s like six and she’s not up yet! Ugh, sorry. He says hello. Save about fifteen bagels for me and give me a call whenever you wake up. Okay, love you and see you so soon, ciao!” 

😠 : an angry voicemail

😳 : an embarrassing voicemail

“Hi. I’m sorry it’s so late. I’m sorry I’m crying. I’m sorry, so sorry for everything. Jordan and I got her older brother to buy us a pack of White Claws and I’m maybe a little extremely drunk. Fuck, she told me not to call you. But I always want to call you, talk to you, even though I said I didn’t. Sober Molly is so stupid. I mean, I feel pretty stupid right now too. Fuck. I should hang up the phone, but I still feel like I have so much to say to you. Theodore. I miss saying your name. I mean to you. I say your name like five thousand times a day...every time I open my fucking mouth it’s your name. Of course not Theodore. That’s only for you...was for you. Because you’re not my boyfriend anymore. Fuck, I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have called...I’m actually glad you didn’t pick up. ‘M gonna text you and tell you to delete this. I hope you listen to me--Hey! Jordan! Give me my phone ba--” 

😯 : a surprised voicemail

😯 : a surprised voicemail

“Ryan! Fucking answer your phone! Whatever, well, listen to this… ♫♫♫...that’s my voice! That’s--That’s us! Playing on the actual radio in this coffeeshop. I asked the barista what station they’re playing and it’s 89.1 FM, WNYU. So we’re cool enough for the college kids at NYU, which I think is pretty fucking sick. No, beyond that. I was literally in such shock I nearly spit coffee all over myself. I’m gonna text everyone in the group chat right now. Now that I’m thinking about it I’m glad you didn’t pick up because now we have this moment on record. Never delete this voicemail or I’ll kill you. Alright, see you later, bye!”

😃 : a happy voicemail

😍 : a loving voicemail

“Hello my darling Antimony, hope you’re not too busy at work right now. I’m at the beach and I’ve got that poetry book you gave me. I always look for pieces of you in everything I read. Especially in the stuff you give me. And well this Margaret Atwood Poem...’Variations on the Word Sleep’...this last stanza, ehm...I keep rereading it. It reminds me of how I feel for you. This one:

I would like to be the air/ that inhabits you for a moment/ only. I would like to be that unnoticed/ and that necessary.

Did I do a good job reading it? I always admire people who can read poetry aloud so nicely...You read it so nicely, but everything suits your voice. Do you want to read something together tonight? It’s supposed to be rainy all evening. Alright, well. Give me a ring when you’ve got a moment. If I had such beautiful words like you or Margaret Atwood I would give them all to you. I love you, love you, love you.” 

😨 : a scared voicemail

😃 : a happy voicemail

“Oi, pick up the phone when I call, Morrison! Kidding. Anyway. I’ve just picked up the prints of the photos I took of you on the beach those weeks ago and they came out fucking fantastic. You’re a good model though. The best. Anyway. There’s one of you that looks like it should be an album cover. Like the Ocean Avenue girl...only sexier of course. D’you reckon I should ask around some of our mates and see if they’d want to use it for their music? We’ll take a look when we see each other next, yeah? There’s plenty of other good shots too. I wish we had a darkroom to use instead of sending this stuff away but--I don’t want to go off on a tangent about it now. I’m just grateful this batch came out good. Okay uh...gimmie a ring or text me when you get this, later.” 

😯 : a surprised voicemail

🥴 : a drunk voicemail

“I-[hiccups]-Isla. Hello bug. Want to hear something? ‘M thinking of you. Sorry it’s so late. Anyway...here...♫♫♫...D’you ever listen to classical music, dove? I learned all that classical bullshit when I was a boy...Tom taught me, he was a good teacher. That one is was Debussy...a prelude. Can’t remember which one. It makes me think of you...me fingers remember stuff my brain can’t. I know I can’t shut me gob right now, but I just wanted to talk to you...I’ve never heard a voice sound so good on an answering message, even if you were just telling me to give me name and number. I’m sure ya’re sleeping. That’s good, I hope you’re having good dreams uh...I’ll probably sleep soon too. I’ve been having trouble sleeping. Obviously. Or I wouldn’t be ringing you at this hour...I’ll play for you until the machine times out, okay? I...yeah... ♫♫♫”

😃 : a happy voicemail

1. Swirling clouds of smoke twisted around their heads as they shared a joint on the beach, the water touching their toes as it lapped onto the shore where they sat. Sam wanted to lie down and close his eyes, maybe fall asleep, maybe just rest. Either way, he wanted to do it wrapped up in Isla. With the joint hanging from his lips he reached for her arm and tugged her closer, and she giggled, following him in suit to lie down in the sand with her head on his chest. Once they were lying, Sam took another long hit before putting the joint in front of Isla's lips for her to take it. He closed his eyes, and thought he might really fall asleep when—

"Hey!" he yelped, laughing as he felt Isla's fingers tickling his sides. "What d'you think you're doing?" he said as he swiftly moved so he was on top of her, pinning her hands lightly against the sand. "I was totally havin' a moment there," Sam chuckled, a smirk coming to his face. 

"When I see the opportunity for a sneak attack, I take it," she teased, and Sam reveled in the way she looked at him. 

"Pain in my ass, you are," Sam tutted, taking the joint and relighting it. Inhaling the smoke he leaned down to her face, bringing one of his hands to part her lips with his thumb to blow the smoke into her mouth. 

"Oh please, you love me," she countered. And instead of answering he kissed her, and wondered why he ever wanted to sleep in the first place. 

—

2. "Dunno why she's putting on a whole get up for little old me," Sam chuckled, sipping a tea at Eleanor and Isla's kitchen table. 

"You're going out to dinner, she wants to look nice!" Eleanor defended, then turned around from the stove with a smirk. "You're looking pretty sharp yourself." 

"Don't I always?" 

"God you've got the fattest head in the world," she snorted, turning back to what she was cooking and Sam laughed quietly. "You two have any other romantic plans for the evening after dinner?" she asked, and Sam wanted to laugh again over the fact that Eleanor didn't turn around to face him. 

"Aye, so romantic, I was plannin' on proposing after we eat," Sam replied, rolling his eyes. Between her and Scott the teasing seemed endless despite his and Isla's insistence that they weren't anything more than friends. Sam spent a lot of time these days reminding himself of that, too. Not that he'd ever say as much out loud.

"All I'm saying is I don't know how many more dates you two can go on before—“ 

"Eleanor please stop harassing Sam!" Isla called from her bedroom, rushing out into the kitchen. Sam's breath caught in his throat and he nearly choked on his tea over how stunning she looked. "Five more minutes, I promise. I'm sorry, this bride I'm working with has been a little nightmarish and--oh, I'll tell you all about her at dinner," she rushed, scurrying back into her room. 

"For the record, I will never stop harassing Sam," Eleanor called back with a chuckle as Isla disappeared again. She turned to Sam and noticed his expression, and she tried to bite back the smug grin on her face that Sam clocked immediately. "She looks fantastic doesn't she?" Eleanor muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. 

"Aye, she always does," Sam said with a laugh that he hoped came across more relaxed than he felt. 

"You're so in love with her," Eleanor said casually, studying his face for a moment before turning back around again to the stove to giggle. 

"What time is me brother supposed to come around again?" Sam chuckled, though his heart rate quickened and he wanted to throw up over the thought of being discovered.

—

3. Why did I ever stop drinking? Sam thought to himself as he and Isla clumsily entered his house. She hung off of his shoulder, drunken and needy, her hands wandering over his body—one she knew well by now. He smacked his hand around the wall to find light switch, though the feeling of Isla's lips on his neck was distracting, and he could hardly see straight anyway. He pulled her to the best of his abilities over to the couch and they flopped over the back of it and onto the cushions where he slid over her, his hands pushing her dress lazily up her torso. Sam's head spun with its usual tornado of thoughts, now clouded in an old and familiar way. Euphoria and despair played their ever-present game of tug of war as Isla kissed him. Only it was easier to ignore when whiskey replaced the blood in his veins. It always made everything easier, he decided. A decision he usually made after he was halfway to the bottom of a bottle. He never meant for her to see him like this. He’d been trying to stay away from her until he sorted himself out. But he couldn’t stay away, he was selfish and the only time he felt half okay was when he was with her. Sam never meant for any of this to happen with her. Blaring like a siren in his mind above the guilt and the sadness, and the pain there was always herherher.

Once they finished Sam all but crawled to his room to take another swig from the bottle of whiskey he'd bought that morning, and came back out in his drunken stupor to scoop Isla up into his arms and bring her to his bed. If he weren't so careful about the way he drank, he would've said something he shouldn't after hearing the beautiful sound of her laugh when he picked her up. "God I'm so fucking drunk," she giggled, settling into his bed and reaching out for him. "Why're you looking at me like that, loverboy?"

"Like what?" Sam slurred, his head lolling to look at the ceiling instead. 

"Like you're totally in love with me," she mumbled, still giggling and turning her face into his chest. 

"Very funny, bug," he replied quietly, and at once felt like he'd sobered up. 

—

4. Surely the only way to rid himself of whatever was going on with his feelings towards Isla was to bring someone else home, right? It was only fair considering Isla was busy, doing whatever or whoever, he guessed. And he didn’t really care, because they were friends. Any motivation to ask out the new dancer who’d started at the resort a weeks ago was purely because he wanted to. She was pretty and he’d spoken with her a few times and she’d be a perfect person to lose himself with for at least a night. He didn’t think at all about the idea that he would go over to Scott’s tomorrow and talk loudly about the affair in front of Eleanor because he knew she would tell Isla about it. While he had this woman in his bed, feeling her hands all over him, he tried so hard to stop thinking. But all he could see when he closed his eyes was Isla’s face, and he wished that it was her who was beneath him instead. Sam stopped suddenly and let out a frustrated sigh. 

“What’s wrong?” She asked. Sam missed when he was drunk and didn’t care about the disappointment in a woman’s voice when he inevitably let her down. “You have a girlfriend, I knew it, I’ve seen you with her before—“

“Oi! No, no. I don’t have a girlfriend, she’s not my girlfriend,” Sam rushed. He knew who she was talking about without her having to say it. 

“Oh…I just thought, well I’d heard some things about you and her,” she said, and Sam visibly cringed a little. It was bad enough that he wanted to wipe away his feelings for Isla, and the thought of them being obvious even to relative strangers made him feel sick. And he wished that gossip didn’t travel like wildfire as it tended to do at work. “So you’re not together?” 

“No.” Sam didn’t want to elaborate, didn’t want to talk about Isla anymore. He moved to kiss her, and after a few minutes she gently pushed him away again. 

“I can tell when I’m hooking up with a guy who loves someone else,” she said, and the words felt like a buckle to his back. 

—

5. “Ha! You’re jealous,” Scott said, and Sam’s gloved right hand collided with the pad Scott was wearing on his left hand. 

“How does that make me jealous? I know the guy, he’s a dickhead,” Sam countered and whacked the pads in a combination. 

“Been sayin’ a lot of her dates are dickheads lately.” Sam was very close to purposefully missing a pad in favor of his hand knocking the smug grin right off of his brother’s face. 

“Because they are fuckin’ dickheads,” he grumbled, and Scott chuckled as Sam threw a few more frustrated punches. He felt like an idiot, and he knew Scott was right. But he couldn’t give him the satisfaction of confirming that to him. Scott had hardly given any to him when he was on the receiving end of the teasing. On top of the fact that Sam was doing his very best to get rid of any feelings of jealousy or affection or whatever it was for Isla. 

“Facts are you’re in love with her laddie,” Scott teased, and Sam rolled his eyes, removed his gloves and tossed one right at his brother’s head. 

“Facts are I’m gonna kick your ass laddie,” he retorted, cracking a smile as Scott dissolved into laughter. 

—

+1. “—aye that sunrise is still feckin' crazy," Maeve interrupted herself, speaking through Sam's computer screen. He'd faced the webcam to position the rising sun over the ocean, since he knew how much his mother loved it. Sam let out an affectionate laugh at her outburst and waited for her to continue her thought. "I'm really losing me 'ead in me old age aren't I?"

"Ya don't look a day over twenty-nine, Ma," Sam said with a wry grin. 

"Aye, shut yar gob. Anyway, when are you getting Isla on the video to meet me?" 

"I've actually got a better idea," he began, "I was thinkin' we take a trip to Donegal sometime soon. I think she'd like that."

Maeve let out a small yelp in surprise and Sam heard his Aunt Colleen call what's the matter?! from another room in the house. "Sammy's going to visit soon!" she called, leaning just slightly off camera before turning her attention back to Sam. The expression on her face made him want to start crying. "You know how much I miss ya, how much everyone 'ere misses ya. And how much I'm reelin' to finally meet this girl," she said, cocking an eyebrow, and Sam ducked his head bashfully. There were plenty of things he hadn't yet disclosed to his mother for a multitude of reasons--like his relapse and the complicated details of his and Isla's relationship—but he'd mentioned Isla's name to Maeve months ago when he foolishly thought she would only ever be a good friend. And every so often during their calls Maeve would ask about her with a smug lilt to her voice that Sam recognized well. And like everyone else, she of course knew long before he did that he cared for Isla much more than he wanted to let on. Which of course, was all absurd now in the present day. 

"I want you and the lot to meet her too," Sam agreed. "And in person. Not over this shitey webcam." 

"You really love her, aye?" Maeve's smile was as fond as Sam had ever seen it.