Blue ; Timothée Chalamet

25.

I sat in silence, rereading the essay Blue gave me. I was shocked that he wrote something so beautiful about me. This was the final draft he gave me; his professor's handwriting was in the top corner along with a perfect score, 100/100.

Blue, the way this paper is written; simply exquisite. I can't remember the last time I gave someone a perfect score.

I reread the last paragraph.

I watched for years at her progression in herself, both incredible and detrimental. Incredible in that she still has so much love for the world, love for people and every animal she comes in contact with. But detrimental to her hatred for herself and her life. The way she goes to sleep every night, wishing things were different. Alone and sad in her room. She feels blue. I wish I could consume her intrusive thoughts and let her mind rest for one night. Frankie Ellison, you make me Blue.

Throughout the entire essay, my name was not mentioned until the very end. I was a ghost in this story, and Blue wrote the whole thing perfectly. Just then, I received a text.

Layla

Are you finally reading it? Let me know what you think!

I answered Layla back about my thoughts and favorite parts. I also mentioned that she and I should get together soon. I haven't seen Layla in a while, and I liked her; finding decent friends in the city has always been a struggle. 

I fold the papers back and tuck them into the envelope. I walk to my room and tuck the letter away in my bedside drawer. I was so exhausted, and the night was getting late. I put my hair into a low bun and begin to undress to shower. I step inside and let the hot water run down my back.

_____

I knock heavily on the door in front of me. I was ready to confront this situation head-on, even if the anxiety inside me told me no. I stood outside waiting for an answer with my hands dug into my coat pocket. The weather was only getting colder in the city; sooner or later, we'll get snow; I groaned at the thought. 

Before I could get too wrapped up in my thoughts, the door in front of me opened. 

"Hi." I lightly smiled.

"What are you doing here?" 

"I think we need to talk, no?" I clear my throat.

Savannah looks me up and down and then motions for me to come in. I follow her inside to her living room, and she takes a seat on the couch. I sit on the other end of the sofa, directing my attention to her. Savannah sighs and finally looks at me.

"What do you want to talk about?" Savannah shifts her body towards me.

"Well, where do we even start?" I cross my arms.

"You can skip past anything that has to do with Baxter. I don't want to hear it." Savannah says, rolling her eyes.

"Okay..." I trail off. 

"Yeah, Blue already told-" 

I cut her off " Oh my god, Jesus, what's up with you and Blue constantly talking about me?" 

"What's the issue? He called and told me he picked you up from Baxter's?" Savannah snapped back. "Calm down."

"No, you two are constantly talking about me behind my back; I'm so sick of it. Just speak directly to me; what's so hard about that?" I throw my arms up, growing angry. 

"Don't give us shit to talk about then, Frankie." Savannah shrugged, looking away.

"You know Sav... you're a real bitch lately."