Bad at Love (Sienna)

Chapter 4. Silver Wrappers

//Green Day- Troubled Times//
*Translations have been added for you*
Fancy reading.

I lay in bed debating whether or not I should go to school just so I can go on the field trip to Chicago. I sent my permission slip already, though I'm not sure my teacher accepted it. I just hate the fact that I have to lay in here pretty much all day.

That means wallowing in my depression and worries so I really don't want to deal with that. Doing things helps me forget everything and ignore the voices. I guess it looks like I'm fucking my doctors advice once again and going.

The day before, half of it was like a fantasy and I wish I could go back. How did I spend my day? I spent it watching Netflix all day in my bed with a large bowl of popcorn and to large containers of only the best kind of ice cream there is. Chocolate. My obsession. My love. My life. My best friend. My lover-okay I'm done.

The other half of my day wasn't so great and to shorten it up, tears were shed.

Deciding that I don't want to pass up Chicago, I throw on dark blue skinny jeans, a long sleeved white shirt, some grey combat boots, and a army green winter jacket.

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"Miss Castello, it is to my understanding that you should not be attending school today," Mr. Reyes said to me sternly but quietly with arms crossed in the hallway.

"I already gave you the money to go and my concussion isn't that bad. They exaggerated about it. Besides, I couldn't pass up the opportunity about learning history from a museum," I try to reason. Oh the lies spitting out of my mouth right now.

"One peep from you Miss Castello and you're in trouble. I'll let this one slide but after this, I don't want to see you in my class until the doctors say you can."

"You have my word," I promise.

I take my seat and instantly feel a familiar presence beside me. Wonderful.

"What is it now Gonzalez?" I say annoyed.

"You have a concussion?"

"Since when do you care about my well-being?"

"Since never. Just curious. How did you get it?"

"Soccer."

"What? Did a simple ball hurt your little head?" He laughs.

"If you mean by blacking out and waking up in the hospital alone, then yes. A simple ball did hurt my little head," I glare at him.

God, answer me this. Why does he always have to look so damn hot without even trying? He's wearing a leather jacket with a Ramones band tee and ripped blue jeans paired with black boots. His only visible tattoos are on his fingers and collarbone. His thick black hair, again as usual, is styled messily.

There wasn't a response from him.

"Well shit," he mumbles after some time.

Before I could make another snarky comment, we began heading out the door to the buses.

I took a seat in the front and put in my earbuds to avoid having to talk to anybody.