Bruises

nïnë

It was a useful reminder that all men, even the most seemingly cold-blooded, have a core of decency, and that if their heart is touched, they are capable of changing.

•nelson mandela•

I left the library two hours later, having fallen asleep and being woken up by a sad looking old lady.

Her eyes had been on my burns, and she seemed very guilty at having woken me up.

I went back to the apartment, walking into the foyer and waiting for the elevator.

A friendly voice from behind me said questioningly, "Olivia?"

I turned around, and there stood Tim, his dirty blonde hair sticking out from under a bright red beanie.

He was smiling again.

"Hey Tim." I greeted.

"What are you doing here?"

"Going home, you?" I asked, realising that this was one of the only conversations I have been a part of that gave away anything about me.

He grinned. "Me too."

I wanted to know what made him so happy. What made his life so liveable, so good that he could smile his friendly smile at it.

"Oh."

His reaction was surprised. "Is my icing sugar dusted friend unhappy?"

I shook my head quickly.

Please don't go, I thought. "I live on floor six." I said.

"What number?"

"Fourteen."

He smiled wider.

"Floor six, number nineteen." He said.

"No, fourteen."

"No, I meant that I live there. Floor six, number nineteen." His sea blue eyes, alike to my brother's, twinkled.

"Oh. Cool."

"You're either just not an enthusiastic person altogether, or you are very appalled by the idea." He said, but he was still smiling and his eyes were still twinkling and his hair was still sticking out from underneath his beanie.

"I'm very unenthusiastic as a human." I replied.

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. I stepped inside, followed by Tim.

"Well then." He said. "Our lives in this apartment building will be fun. Promise."

And the doors shut, and we proceeded to floor six, numbers fourteen and nineteen.

_

Oooooh comment your thoughts below on Tim and Olivia's friendship, munchkins!

Byeee