cigarettes and valentines // tree bros

chapter 5

The day ended, as they tend to. I didn't quite manage to escape class early or avoid the masses flooding towards the exit. To prevent a panic attack, I was forced to retreat to the farthest bathroom from the parking lot. It was abandoned after 5th period mostly, so it promised sanctuary for at least ten minutes before the janitor found me.

Guiltily, stealthily, I crept in and looked around, affirming I was alone. I fished in my bag for my dollar store earphones. They were gross, and hurt your ears if you had them in for more 10 seconds – oh, and obviously, they were vibrant orange. But they were all I had. Hesitantly, I put them in, craving Dancing Through Life. Only one side spat out its tinny audio. Typical. I dropped them to the floor with a sigh.

Any hope of staring into the mirror and indulging in a reflective moment was squandered, however, by the sound of a door slam. Instead of doing the rational thing and remaining where I was, since it was a public bathroom at the school I attended and I had every right to be there, I ducked into the nearest stall and locked the door. Footsteps thundered into the room, stopping at the middle stall.

"'So how'd you break your arm?'" If I hadn't immediately recognized the voice, Connor's mockery of his own half of our earlier conversation sold him out. "Fucking brilliant work, Connor. Wow. No fucking wonder nobody fucking likes you, fuck. Fuck," his ranting was overshadowed by the sound of fist hitting wall, "fuck this, it's fucking today, it's got to be today. What is it, fuck, the fucking 5th? Yeah, yeah, the 5th of September, that's a good date."

A good date? Did that mean what it sounded like? I didn't exactly like Connor Murphy – I didn't even know the guy – but could I live with hearing what was possibly his last words and not doing anything? He'd signed his name on my cast... maybe that's just what he needed, a friend, me? I needed friends, too. But there was a high chance I wouldn't even be able to help him. Not to mention that he'd think I was a fucking weirdo, hiding out in the bathroom 20 minutes after the bell had rung.

I felt powerless, but I was aware that I had choices. Not a lot of choices, but choices. I didn't know for sure that he was talking about killing himself but his tone didn't exactly prove his sanity. I couldn't just let this go. And anyway, I was directly involved. I reached for my earphones, so he would think I didn't hear, and found nothing. Connor's foot crushing them into the tiled floor helped me locate them. I swore softly to myself. I was just going to have to be brave.

I took as deep and quiet a breath as humanly possible. Flushing the toilet and pretending to stuff earphones into my bag, I exited the stall.

"Connor," I feigned surprise. He looked at me like a deer caught in headlights. I ran my hand through my hair, fighting the urge to keep it there, keep myself anchored to earth.

"You again," he breathed, or laughed. His smile wasn't quite the same effortless one from earlier. He had tied his hair back, and his cheekbones were far more prominent that way. It made him look younger, more innocent. He crossed his arms, the fingers of his left hand clenching tightly onto his upper arm. "Don't you have a bus to catch?"

"Don't you?" I countered. The look in his eyes was unintelligible, unreadable, as if he had willingly shut me out. I leaned against the counter, one hand still remaining on my backpack strap. It was hard to think of something worthwhile to say with the fluorescent lights of the bathroom blinding me. "It's been a long first day of the year, huh?"

"That was just a day?" He laughed; a definite laugh, a real laugh. I smiled, my muscles relaxing along with my grip on my bag. I stepped slightly closer to him and Connor stepped to the side, as if to let me pass. I didn't pass. He sighed. "What're you doing here?"

"Uh, I, uh, ah, I needed to pee," I lied. He could tell I was lying. Fuck, it was so inconvenient that I was such a bad liar. I kept my eyes trained at his chest, at his illegible band shirt. It was so in character for Connor to be into death metal. "Ah, I, uh, it... I didn't think anyone would be in here. I walk home."

"My sister usually gives me a ride," he told me. His stance – arms folded, one hand cupping an elbow, slightly slouched – hadn't changed since I first emerged from the stall. I wanted to bring up his outburst, but then he would know I had been listening in. The air was heavy with silence. "You know Zoe, right?"

"Yeah, she's cool, she's in my biology," I smiled, and Connor shifted his weight, uncrossing his arms to lean one hand against the wall he had punched. The blood on his knuckles hadn't dried. He saw me looking, sighed, and regressed to his previous position. I knew I had to bring up the topic. "Ah, w-w..."

Before I could finish, or even start asking the question, Connor's phone rang – loud and disruptive. He looked at me, that almost-apology glance I saw earlier that day. With nothing more than a wave, muttering quietly into his phone, Connor left the bathroom. I looked at the large lettering on my cast, hoping that my new (and only) friend would still be there the next day.