Letting you go [COMPLETE]

Chapter 20 [Part 1]

Unedited.

This chapter is in two parts again because I haven't updated in two weeks and I had to update something. Seriously, I've been updating terrible and I'm going to start doing it regularly again.

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               "Frozen yoghurt?" I echo incredulously, raising an eyebrow at the shop standing in front of us. FROYO GOYO stares back at me, a large flashing sign, too bright for my liking. "Nice name," I mutter, rolling my eyes.

               It's the last place I'd been expecting James to lead me, but I can't say I want to complain. Frozen yoghurt is one of my favourite foods, aside from pizza and chocolate. I don't know how good it will be inside but if they have mango I'm sold. Before the cancer diagnosis I'd hated mango; after it had become a craving. I've never asked my doctor about it because he'd just look at me oddly, but I've always wondered why.

               A hand nudges my shoulder and I look up at James sharply. He stares at me, raising an eyebrow. A blush spreads across my cheeks and I smile ruefully. Shrugging helplessly, I mouth, forgot. Sorry.

               James just waves his hand in response. It's okay, leave it alone, I interpret the gesture as. Despite it, I can't help but feel guilty. I'm the last person who wants to offend him for any reason, especially not because of a blatant disregard.

               James stares at me a minute longer, before pointing at the sign flashing in the front of the shop. Coming in? he mouths. Nodding wordlessly, I follow him inside, ducking under his arm as it holds the glass doors open. Flashing him a grateful smile, I scan the interior of FROYO GOYO.

               To the right of the shop, there's a large counter, girls in bright green shirts smiling and serving customer. I don't let my eyes linger for too long, avoiding the flavours all together. I'll find them out later anyway.

               The window at the back of the shop faces the street and people walk by, looking through the glass, inside the shop. The left of the store is completely different, steps leading up to a raised area, carpeted with fake grass. Tables are places randomly around the room, couples sitting, talking with a bowl of frozen yoghurt in front of them. The grass area runs along the whole wall, a deep, long recess, long enough for a person to lay down in. Pillows are scattered randomly along the grass.

               My converse are soundless against the wooden floor, but James's footsteps echo. Eyes stare at us . . . well, most girls stare at James. Then their eyes land on me and jealously flickers. I can't help but smile a little. If only they knew the truth, then they'd be all over James. Until they found out he can't talk. Then they'd take their uptight selves and ignore him because of it.

               Just like they're doing to me now. One by one, their eyes land on the oxygen machine, I'm rolling behind me, and then they look away hastily. As if they're uncomfortable at the sight of it. When they look at James again, it's in an all new light. Their eyes are full of pity, as if they feel sorry for him. I can almost hear what they're thinking.

               What's he doing with her?

               What's wrong with her?

               Choosing to ignore them, I turn to James instead, smiling at him. He's not even looking at me, too busy glaring at everyone else in the store. Before a conflict can start—not that it will—, I pull him towards the counter. He doesn't fight it, letting me lead him, though his shoulders are tense and his jaw is clenched.