Saints & Sinners

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty:

It was awkward. The entire situation, from me first noticing him to walking back out of the library doors. It was like a sick kind of gas had purmeated the air, like God just enjoyed watching us all squirm helplessly like a fly to the flame.

My body was shaking, trembling, I couldn't handle it. I kept my head down, I didn't want to look at him. I didn't want to be here, at this school, in this town, in this country. I wanted out. I wanted the world to stop so I could get the hell off. It wasn't the first time I'd considered something so dark. Ending it. No. I wouldn't. That wasn't me, I was fine. I wasn't even broken, I was fine.

It was all too much.

My heart beat kept getting faster, I felt like my rib cage was slowly shattering each time it thudded. I just couldn't believe I'd let it come to this, I couldn't believe that I'd even left my Aunt's house that night, and ended up in the gutter outside of his store.

And, above all of that, I couldn't actually believe that I'd, for once in my entire pitiful existence, acted on my thoughts. I'd usually keep them bottled up, it was my nature. I was a recluse, I didn't want to do anything outside of my comfort zone, I didn't want anyone to see me for what I actually was, an empty shrivelled shitter with nothing to live for.

I was barely scraping by.

And now, because of my horrendous and vile stupidity, because of my disgustingly tragic self, I'd been tossed into this predicament with the only way out being to face the truth, to stand up and face the consequences of my actions.

I couldn't, though. What would it accomplish?

That voice returned, the voice that, through all of these years, never ceased to make me feel more terrible about myself. The voice of doubt, the devil on my shoulders:

He'll never like you back. Never. Even if he is like you, which is disgusting, why would he choose you?

Why would he ever want a pathetic little shitter like you, when he can have Jaspar? Hot Jaspar, gorgeous Jaspar, his beautiful ex Jaspar.

You don't compare to him, you don't deserve Tristan, you deserve to be alone. Go back to your room, go into your old box, you know what's there. Do it. Do it now.

My hands immediately shot to my thighs, but I pulled them away, I got rid of that thought entirely. I was better now. I didn't need to do it, not again, ever again.

He was standing right there, pretending not to see me, and I was doing the exact same thing. Pretending. Pretending I wasn't broken, or that I hadn't kissed him, or that I wasn't... that. Because I couldn't be... that. I wasn't.

"Hey," he finally said, after a long, dreaded, drawn-out silence had stuffed the air between us. We'd just stood there for a while, for what seemed like hours but was probably just a few minutes. Everyone around us got on with what they were doing, but we just stood there like toy soldiers.

He turned and looked at me, but my eyes didn't stray from my feet. "Okay," I muttered, the words coming out so haggardly that they may have torn holes in my throat.

"Can we talk?" he asked again. I could feel his eyes still on me, gazing intently. I didn't want to look at him, and I certainly didn't want to talk to him. But I had to. I knew inside that I had to face him, to apologise, to stop being his friend. He clearly hadn't gotten the hint over the last month.

That was what I was doing, I wasn't encouraging him. I'd end it, whatever it was, and I'd end it now.

"Fine," I muttered dryly, not even daring to look at him as I began slowly dragging myself down a long stack of bookcases. Hiding between two large bookshelves, I led him right to the end, where only the chandelier on the ceiling could see us firmly. I finally looked at him. "What?"