I'm Not Okay (I Promise) • Geetrick

5

---Patrick---

The handle bar on the door of the bus dances coolly on the tips of my fingers. It's smooth, cold, silver. Unused for at least three or four hours and the cold air isn't helping with that, only making it worse. Even the simplest touch of it feels like an ice cube: so cold it almost hurts. It sends a cold feeling darting up through my fingertips, under my scarred wrists, and through my blue veins to my heart so fast, I wouldn't have known it happened if it wasn't for the shudder that followed.

The two black steps on the bus make a thumping noise as I step up the small platforms, pulling my bus pass from my pocket nervously and flashing it to the bus driver on the way. The plastic holds a glare on the silver and blue details from the red sun overhead, creating a distortion in the details. The man nods me off, anyway, allowing me to continue through the rows on the bus while I put my pass back, away in the safety of my pocket.

My green eyes dart around subtly, trying to find an empty row because I am not sitting by a stranger. It's not that I'm afraid of strangers or I hate strangers, I'm just too scared I'll make them uncomfortable or that they'll ask for a different seat if I do. It's happened before... I found a place beside one once, and they just moved away. I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable like that again... It makes me feel like I'm forcing them into it and it just makes me really guilty. But at the same time, I shouldn't be selfish and keep a whole row to myself. Then people would just glare at me and find a seat where they have to sit by someone else. I don't even deserve to ride the bus, honestly. I should just walk and not be lazy. At least it would make the time to get home longer...

I blink my mind out of the clouds and force myself to keep walking, my feet dragging the rest of my body on. As I go, I pass several rows, all of which are full with people: girls, boys, teens, adults, mothers, fathers, children, elders. I'm afraid there won't be any seats for me, and I'll end up standing.

It would be good for someone as fat as you.

Maybe it would be...

I blink away the thought and look back up. I'm halfway through the bus, and I'm stopping in my tracks. My breathing hitches while my eyes widen. Time slows. I get that feeling from earlier. Like a thousand butterflies roaming the darkness of my stomach. My throat closes up slightly as my eyes travel his figure, beautiful and pristine. I can barely breathe around him. It's like my lungs refuse to work and I have a mini panic attack. But I don't feel like I'm dying. I only feel like I'm falling. It's all I really know.

Time continues. My mind catches up. I can breathe again. I take the chance to gasp for air because he is on the bus. The artist from fourth is on the bus. Gerard Way is on the bus, and I'm panicking, but I'm trying not to let it show.

He hates you, Patrick. You said it to his face that you didn't want to be his friend! What is wrong with you? You've probably lost all chances of him ever liking you. You messed up again. You fucked up so bad. But it's okay. It's not like he would want to talk to you anyways.

He's working on his drawing from earlier, his pencil making lines and shapes on his sketchbook. I'm frozen in place, I can't move out of fear that he'll bully me or worse...

I swallow my fear and go, walking through the aisle. He's completely concentrated on the drawing, oblivious to my presence like he's lost in his own world, much to my relief, until I pass him, that is. That's when his gaze darts up just like it did in the art room, his beautiful brown eyes meeting mine with curiosity and my stomach erupts into butterflies again. His eyebrows narrow for a moment, looking confused at first as he tries to place my face, but a smile soon replaces the frown, and his attitude seems to lighten instantly. I don't even have time to react before he's moving over a seat, allowing me to sit beside him.