The Pain of We (ON HOLD)

3

I stood at the same spot as yesterday, watching to see if you were going to show up again. You did, and today you stood an inch closer than yesterday. Our conversation mustn't've phased you yesterday.

"I'm sorry I angered you." You said.

I didn't say anything.

The bus pulled up to us and stopped. I climbed the stairs and sat in my regular seat. You sat across from me. I know your eyes were watching me the whole ride.

...
I held my lunch tray in my hands, my knuckles turning white from the pressure. I was biting my lip, moving back and forth on my toes.

Just go.

I sighed and started walking towards where you sat at the end of a crowded table. No one was talking to you, though. You were alone.

I sat my tray down in front of you and sat down. You glanced up, confusion barely noticeable in your eyes. The look was gone in a second. I jumped right in. "What do you know about me?"

"I know your name. I know your birthday was last week, but no one paid any attention. You're mother and sister died when you were young and now you're left with your dead-beat father. You have a few "scratches" running up and down your arms. Also, you have burns on the back of your neck."

I put a hand on the cigarette burns, running my fingers over my shirt where they laid. I put my hand down, biting my lip again.

"What do you know about me?" You refused to look away from me.

I glanced up. "You had a panic attack the other day. Your family is rich and as far as I know, happy. But something's off about you, you're not quite alright..." I trailed off, wondering what about you I was forgetting. "Oh. And your name is Jarsen Nichols."

You nodded. "Is that all?"

I pursed my lips and leaned in close. "Why did you break down?"

You gave a small smile, a sad smile, and the bell rang. "See you." You said and left.

...
I found the cat dead on the porch when I got home. I sighed and bagged her, tossing her in the trash. What else was I to do? She didn't even have a name.

I walked into the house and bagged up the dirty laundry. I found some spare coins and started walking towards the laundry mat.

I threw my clothes in the far washer, the one away from anyone else. I put in my quarters and started the machine. I pulled out my math homework and sat down in one of the chairs.

The bell on the door rang and Hani walked in. She gave me a small smile and started her own wash. She walked over to me and sat down. "Wazzup, Lark,"

I smiled. I've known Hani since I was young. She went to high school before I did. Now she's in college, and every once in a while I'll see her city ass hanging out around here.

"Not much. How's school?"

Hani rolled her eyes. "I fucking hate college. How's the old man treating you?"

I looked down. Hani knew about some of the stuff my father has done to me, but I never let her know the whole story. "We're fine."

Hani rolled her eyes. "Sure. Whatever." Hani glanced up at my washer. It buzzed loudly and I stood up to switch the clothes over. "So I met this really cool chick, names 'Zandrea, you'd like her. She totally flirts with me."

I smiled, shaking my head. As far back as I understood, Hani changed her sexuality as much as her hair. Once day, she'd claim she's straight, the next she's pan.

"Did you flirt back?" I asked, sitting back down.

"Maybe. How 'bout you? Anyone you looking at?"

You popped into my mind.

Hani gasped. "Oh my god! You do! Is he cute? Is he a damn, or a daamn?"

I laughed. "Hani, he'd never date me. I'm not his type." But you sure are mine.

"Oh whatever! You're everyone's type."

"No one wants to date a poor girl."

"You're not poor." I glared at Hani. She sighed. "You're not horribly poor. What? Is he really rich?"

I nodded. "His house could eat mine for breakfast."

Hani rolled her eyes. "Ask him out. What's the worst that could happen?"

Everything.

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Also: creds to IsabellCoria and my friend Mollie, wouldn't've been able to make this story realistic without you two!