Along came Avery

4 1 . t h e b o n d i n g

If I could run away, I would — I'm already panting as it is. But childishly, when I hear my name being called repeatedly, I block both of my ears and walk faster. My heart pounds in my chest violently and my bottom lip is caged between my teeth and I blink away the burning sensations.

I'm such a baby. I've cried enough yet more tears want to be produced. I need to grow up, really. Move on. Let it go. I'll talk to them and get it over with, and we'll figure it out from there.

But I'm hurt. I really am. What are friends for if they can't even hear you out, or are so quick to judge? What are friends for if they can't even provide comfort? Understandable, they were bamboozled with something as heavy as murder, a girl lost her life to drugs and I was involved, so maybe I'm being insensitive. Maybe I should understand where they are coming from, but the least they could do is... listen.

Sucked back to reality, my arm is gripped and my whole body is being pulled away from crossing the road and heading to my dorm. I try pulling my arm back, refusing to even yell at him for basically manhandling me, but his grip is tight. His grip is determined— he is determined and he doesn't stop right up until we get back to the yard of the school, close to where the tagging gates are. Then, he pushes me to the corner where less eyes can watch — less eyes can, considering it's only a bit over the afternoon, and not many people are moving about by the entrance.

"You have to listen to me." He starts off, and the moment he let go of my arm, I rub it a bit before folding them over my chest, tears welling in my eyes still, as though truly, they don't want to subside and they're still deciding to slip down my cheeks. I can't even look up at him. "Whatever happened, it's not because of me—"

"It's done, Avery. It's done now."

"No. Listen to me. You're not listening to me."

"You forced me here, literally. What else am I supposed to do? I'm listeni—"

I shut my mouth when he, Avery, places his hand right under my chin and lifts my head up. I'm forced to look up at him — I look at his frowning lips first and I don't know why — before my eyes lift to his. It's partially blurry due to the tears, but I can clearly see his bothered expression, a face that seemed to have been crying moments ago. His eyes dart from one eye to the other before analysing my face, then back at my eyes.

It almost feels like I'm stagnant, I almost can't move with the both of us looking into each other's eyes for a moment. Like I'm compelled to stand before him like many times before, letting him say whatever he desires and almost do whatever he feels.

"It wasn't me." His hand moving from my chin right down to the side of my neck. I hate the tingles that start up because of that.

"So it was Amber?"

"Who else would it have been? For once just stop being a suck-up and pay attention to the details, Zinhle. Stop being so stup— ah... just... stop defending them all the time."

I scoff, blinking as I glance away. For sure, as predicted, a year slips past my eyelids and rolls down my cheek, and I harshly rub it away.

"I'm... sorry." He starts off. "I don't... I know what it feels like. I've been through it. I know I said things and made you feel bad because I thought you did it. I thought you killed her. Yeah, I questioned why they released me way earlier than I expected, but they never went into detail. They didn't tell me she died of overdose because she killed herself. They didn't tell me there was traces of antidote in her. All they said was the evidence changed, and they couldn't prove it was me, so they had to release me. I was angry, you must understand, anyone would be. I've been through it, and maybe I took it too far with you because I wanted you to feel what I felt but I couldn't because..." he sighs, dropping his hand before taking a step back.