Hate? (Thomas Sangster Fanfiction)

Chapter Two (Hate?)

Thomas's POV (Chapter 2)

"Hey!" I yelled after her. She stopped and turned around.

"What the hell do you want?" She asked.

"Um, nothing in particular." I nodded to her book. "Sorry." Her face lightened a little.

"You're fine."

"You'd look a lot better if you didn't wear so much make up." Her face was covered in it, she was wearing so much I liner that her whole eye lid looked black. She laughed, a cute small laugh.

"You're not really supposed to say that to a girl going through puberty."

"Why?" I asked.

"Self esteem."

"Sorry." She pulled her hood over her head because the wind was ripping at her.

"Didn't catch your name." She leaned against a metal gate.

"Oh, sorry! Thomas, Thomas Sangster."

"Stop saying sorry." She turned and started to walk.

*time skip to the next day at lunch.*

I sat down next to her. "Did I say something yesterday that made you think that we're friends? Cause we're not." She said as I took a bite of my sandwich.

"Look owl, I just want a place to sit."

"One, why did you call me that and two, why don't you go sit with the jerks you normally sit with?"

"You look like you need a friend." I said. We continued to eat in silence.

"If you're going to sit with me tell me about yourself." Y/N said.

"Well I'm thirteen, my mom wanted me out of the house so she sent me hear, and I think you're hiding something behind all that black." In one quick movement I pulled up her sleeve. Before I could get a good look she pulled down her sleeve again. "You're hiding something."

"Maybe I am. Why do you care?"

"I care because I see someone in pain more than I am. Tell me about yourself."

"I'm thirteen, I love to sing, I'm an orphan, and I'm into guys with British accents. Do you want to see my wrists?"

"Yeah." She moved so her forearm was facing the ceiling. I pulled up her sleeve. Red scratches covered her wrists. "Am I the only one that knows?" She nodded. "How long ago."

"About a week. I hurts like fuck. And not on the outside, Thomas" Y/N said.

"Owl, what do you mean?"

"My mom, dad, and sister were killed at a shooting.

"Y/N what is your last name?"

"I'm not going to tell you."

"And why is that?"

"Because you're going to google me." She looked at me straight in the eye.

"Promise you won't cut yourself again." I said.

"I don't brake promises so I'm not going to tell you that I won't." She got up and walked off.