Attention (Jamilton)

Part 2: Misery

Thomas' POV

I have never felt misery before. I've been upset, maybe even sad, but never miserable. But Hamilton know what it feels like, and he just used that to punch me in the gut.

Now I know what misery feels like. 

Hamilton cuts himself and it's all my fault. All thanks to my fucked up mentality. So as he storms away, I scream a confession out of the moment's confusion. 

"IT'S BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!!" 

I immediately put my hands to my mouth. My eyes widen. Hamilton turns around, his eyes softened. It's funny, I always thought his eyes were brown. I guess they're blue? 

"You- you what?" He stutters. 

"I like, like you." I mumble. My face flushes bright red and feels hot. 

"Oh...I can't, I mean, I'm flattered, I guess." He says with a light blush. He's gorgeous. 

"No, it's okay. I don't deserve you, after what I've been to you."

"I'll think about it." 

A tear makes its way down my cheek. He walks away. I screwed up big time. I turn and run back into my house, wash my face, take the bus to school. I don't care that it's five minutes from here. I can't find the energy to walk there. I'm late to class. I tell everyone that I overslept and Hamilton just stares. He knows why I'm really late. 

-time skip to lunch-

"So you're moody today," Burr jokes. I take a bite of macaroni. 

"You're moody all the time. I've never met someone who is so focused on bringing down one person." I say in response. I'm talking about Hamilton, of course, and he knows it. You can feel the anger surge through his body. "But it's whatever, I guess." I shrug. He stays silent for the rest of the period. 

I glance around the cafeteria. Hamilton isn't here.

"Excuse me," I say as I leave the table. I jog towards the exit of the room and as I leave I almost miss it.

Hamilton is sitting there, eating a PB&J. He's not even doing anything. 

"Go away." He says, without looking up. 

"Are you okay?" 

"Jesus, Jefferson, what do you think?" 

I sigh. "Look, I screwed up."

"Well that's obvious."

"Do you think, maybe, we could be friends? We don't have to be anything more, just-"

"I don't think that can happen." 

"Why not?" I ask.

"Because," He says, finally looking up, "while I do want the constant mental torture to stop- my mom is not a whore, by the way- I saw you when you had a crush on Madison. You were constantly hitting on him. I can't handle that. Another thing, what are people going to say?"

"Who cares?" 

"I care!" He says, slightly louder. "Now if you'll excuse me, I was having a conversation  with someone before you so rudely interrupted." 

I give up and walk back inside to the cafeteria. 

"So what was that all about?" My best friend, James Madison, asks. 

"Nothing." I say. My phone pings and I open it, automatically knowing who it is. I'm a social butterfly, sure, but I talk to surprisingly few people. I met this guy once at a party while I was drunk and woke up with his number in my phone. We like a lot of the same things, and I still don't remember what he looks like. He's fun to chat with, at the very least.