Kathy With A K's Song

22 | You Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will.

"We were just kids when I first kissed you in the attic of my parents house" - You Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will.

-

For the past three years, Marisol Vega has been the closest thing to a friend I've had. We'd be closer if we got to see each other more, but she went to a school a ways away. Sometimes she's able to come down and spend the weekend with me.

We met late into my freshman year. One day I had gotten so fed up with everyone's taunts, that I walked out of school and just kept walking. Eventually, I stopped at this small coffee shop, Bailey's Glass, and had the best hot chocolate in the world. After that, I came back as many times as possible.

When we started to talk, I found out that Marisol was there the first day, but we never actually spoke. Not until two or three weeks later when she stood up from her empty corner to join mine. I still remember the first thing she said to me.

"What kind of person reads in their free time? What are you a nerd?"

I wasn't that into Sophia back then; I could still see myself with other people. Marisol was one of those people.

She was beautiful in the most enticing way, still is. It was her boldness that drew me in. Her lack of filter and complete disregard for people's expectations are what drew me in. In the beginning, it was because I was envious. Later it was because I was attracted.

"C-can I help you?" I stuttered, slowly setting down the book in my hands.

The girl who wore the combat boots that I've wanted for weeks leaned over the table with a roll of her eyes.

"No quise asustarte. I only wanted to tell you how pretty you are." She murmured in a low voice, sending a jolt down my spine.

And then she pulled away and walked out of the cafe without another word. I watched the back of her leather jacket for as long as I could, following it as she drove away.

That was the first time in a very long time that someone had said something kind to me, let alone something flattering. It lit a fire in me, and I was alive for the first time in ages.

I made sure to come by Bailey's Glas every day after that. Marisol wasn't there every day, but I lived for the days she did show up. I started looking forward to school because afterward, I got to spend time with her.

It started with us just talking. I talked about the terrible things people did to me, and she told me about her awful parents.

What happens to me at school is far from easy, and will most likely haunt me years after I leave, but I am lucky to have the family that I have. There is nothing worse than the suffering that is having intolerant parents.

I get to leave school every day. If I don't want to go at all, I can stay home. Easy.

But you always have to go home. There's no easy way to escape that. There's no how-to list for forgetting the fact that the people who raised you can't stand who you are. There isn't a sleepover long enough to keep you safe from the hell that is your home.

Some kids don't make it out of that hell alive.

Marisol's parents have never beat her, but that's irrelevant. You don't need to touch someone to tear their insides apart. It's particularly easy for the people who built those insides from the ground up. They know the blueprints well, know how to make it hurt the worst.

I felt so trivial next to her when she told me her story. To equate my situation to hers felt gross. But Marisol insisted that we continued to talk. And soon it became more than just talking.