"Why don't you just leave me alone?" I spit at him, the anger laced in my voice angered him and I loved it. I watched as he clenched his jaw, staring at me as his eyes darkened; walking up to me, soon towering over me making me realize how small I w...
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─── ･ ｡ ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
T H I R T Y S E V E N
I WOKE up early this morning, made my way to the library where I saw Lana and Mattheo already sitting, and walked over to the same table we'd sat at before. It was strange, but I'd grown accustomed to this table, and I'd grown to like it. The same way I'd eventually grown to like the one I would choose to sit and write to my Mother at. The same table I forced my eyes away from every time I looked at it.
Yesterday was full of constant reminders that my Mother wasn't here, and that I wasn't with her. When I woke up to the unopened presents on top of my trunk, I kept them wrapped, and didn't touch them.
They were from Erised, Epiphany, and Kassandra.
When I'd looked at them, it was like some kind of fucked up déjà vu had hit me—like the presents were laughing in my face from being from them and not my Mother. I knew if I sat down and opened them, that I would be taken back to my childhood, to a time where the person I had once loved most had existed.
Only to be reminded that I live in a time where she no longer does.
"Oh, Adamos, why the sad face?" Lana pouted, arms crossed, her below-ear length black hair in messy curls. "Yesterday was Christmas, one of the happiest days of the year." she added with a bitchy grin, sweet pearled emphasis on happiest.
"I didn't know we were so special. Look at you, doing your hair and all just to come and prepare a project none of us are going to pass." I added with a smirk, a small shrug of my shoulders, and a tiny hmm.
She glared at me, then sideways at Mattheo. "If you think I give a single damn about the fact that I'm meeting with you two," she rolled her eyes. "Think again."
"Are you sure? Because it seems to me that you spend a lot of time resenting it." Mattheo spoke for the first time since I'd sat down beside him. He hadn't said one word to me, not one. But here he was, smiling at her, ignoring me, completely.
"I do not."
"Then at least answer why you always talk about Calantha." Mattheo smirked, angling his eyes at me, tingles running down my arms. My legs. Tight coils formed in my stomach the same way they had last night.
"I don't." she crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at him, then snarled at me.
"I'll tell you why," he shifted in his chair, his eyes still on me. "It's because nobody will listen when you talk about yourself. Because nobody cares. About you, or your life. And because of that, you have to talk about someone else."
