OXYGEN

11 - Get Away

"Now that Forrest is gone," Ivy began, "you can tell me more about yourself." She walked back to her closet and resumed her search. I took this as my cue to sit on her bed. "He never told me about you before."

"Oh, we just -" We just met this morning? "He and I aren't that close," I explained lamely.

"Well, you must mean something to him," she casually replied, "He doesn't let just anyone use his favorite hoodie." She put unnecessary emphasis on anyone.

My attention instantly landed onto the maroon hoodie she was talking about; I had forgotten that I was even wearing it. But then the last thing she said came to mind. "This is his favorite hoodie?" I stared at the back of her head, waiting. Her brown locks were tied up, multiple strands sticking out carelessly.

She continued. "Yeah, and you know what? One time, we were at the mall and I was literally freezing, but he refused to let me wear it. He was like I told you to bring your own jacket and then I told him that he was being rude, but he didn't even care."

I chuckled, seeing that Ivy was as amusing as she was pretty. She then grabbed a pair of denim shorts and held them out to me. "Hey, are these okay?"

"Hm," I eyed the shorts hesitantly. Despite its term, I found the length a little too . . . little. They didn't seem appropriate for me at all. "Do you have something a bit longer? Maybe sweatpants?"

She laughed, like I was kidding. "Sweatpants? But Forrest told me you guys weren't planning on staying here." I raised a brow at that. "Oh, okay," she turned back to her closet, "How about some leggings then?"

Leggings, I could handle. "Yeah, that would be great," I murmured and waited as she tried to find it. "So . . . you're sixteen, huh?"

"Yeah, I'll be turning seventeen in November. How about you?"

"I'm nineteen and before you ask, no - my birthday is not actually in June." I smiled when she stopped what she was doing to look at me, disbelief all over her face.

"Are you serious?" she exclaimed. "Then why -"

"Because," I answered, "you can't name a child February. Or well, you can, but, uh," I paused, "I guess my parents just wanted to name me after the sixth month instead." Ivy laughed, but I no longer felt any amusement. I cleared my throat and decided to change the topic. "So Ivy, what do you like to do in your free time?"

"Well," she drawled out, "I really enjoy sleeping, but watching TV is fun too." I waited to see if she was joking, but she appeared to be absolutely serious. "And if I'm in the mood, I like working out. I also enjoy wasting hours online. You know - Wattpad, YouTube, Twitter, all that. If you haven't noticed, I live a very exciting life."

"Oh, well, there's nothing wrong with that. It's better than, you know, staying out and causing trouble."

"Yeah, true." A few seconds later, she suddenly cried out, "Found it!" She pulled out black leggings out from the heap of clothes and rose to her feet, handing me it along with the yellow shirt. "Gosh, that took so much effort." She plopped onto her bed, making it bounce slightly. "I should really sort out my closet one day," she murmured, mostly to herself.

"Thank you," I softly said while I examined the clothes. The shirt was a bit too small and yellow was certainly not my kind of color, but it was fine.

"No problem," she coolly replied, "So enough about me. What do you like to do?"

I faltered. For the most part, I spent time with my bed. But whenever I managed to drag myself out of sleeping, I would take long walks outside, unable to bear the stifling emptiness of my house. I often found the walks relaxing, even if my feet ached. And there was never any particular destination - I just went wherever I could. Just to get away. During one of these walks, I had discovered the lake. That day, I had no idea that I would later choose it as my place to -

"June?" I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. I put back my focus on Ivy, who looked at me, unsure. "You good?"

I swallowed and then said, "Sorry. I was just thinking about something. Uh, anyway, to answer your question, I like to -" Because I didn't want to seem boring, I tried to come up with other things I enjoyed doing. Finally, I remembered something. "- read poetry." Some nights, if I couldn't sleep, I found myself clinging on to the beautifully-constructed, raw verses of Doc Luben, Lang Leav, Shane Koyczan, Christopher Poindexter, and others. There was something about the way they wrote, like they used their tears, sweat, blood, and spit as ink.

"Really? That's nice," Ivy remarked, "Do you write as well?"

"Oh no, not really," I shook my head, "I'm not that good at it honestly. I haven't written a poem in a while."

"Oh." She stayed quiet for a few seconds. I tried to think of something else to say to keep the conversation going, but she beat me to it. "So . . . um, what do you think about my brother?"

"Hm?" I slightly furrowed my brows. "What do you mean?"

"You know, what do you think about him?" She stared, watching me closely. "Do you think he's weird? Irritating? Good-looking? Horrible?"

"No, of course not," I exclaimed, "He's . . . alright." Now that she brought up the question, I wondered: What did I really think of Forrest?

"Wait," Ivy said, "So you don't think he's good-looking?"

I shot a look at her, curious. "Am I supposed to?"

She laughed. "I just want to know - that's all."

"Well," I tried to act nonchalant, but in the back of my mind, I was aware that Forrest was, indeed, good-looking. I had known it since the moment I first saw him. "He's not too bad, I guess."

"Ah, cool," Ivy decided it was time to move on, "Anyway . . ."

Several minutes later, she and I were discussing our favorite foods (hers was sushi and mine was Alfredo pasta) when we heard a knock on the door.

"Hey." Forrest came in, holding an orange towel. He was wearing a blue polo shirt - which fit him quite well, might I add - and black jeans. He looked refreshed and I was ready to feel the same.

"Finally!" Ivy exclaimed. "Can't believe you took that long."

"Says the girl who takes two years," he retorted and I smiled, recalling that was what he said earlier. As I stood up and headed over to him, I heard Ivy mutter a whatever. "Here you go," Forrest said as he gave the towel to me, "I'll show you where the bathroom is."

With that being said, we left Ivy's room and walked further into the hallway. We passed a few other doors before we reached it. Forrest turned the lights on and the first thing I noticed was the white shower curtain having some sort of elegant, diamond-shaped design. Other than that, it was just an ordinary bathroom with salmon-hued walls and beige, limestone tiling.

"Okay, so," he made a gesture to the bathtub, "just to let you know, it takes a little bit for the hot water to come. Also, I got a new bar of soap for you and, uh, you can use whatever shampoo you want . . . If you have any problems, just call out my name."

"Got it," I nodded, "Thanks."

Forrest gave me a little smile before leaving.