floating | ✓

06| bittersweet

"People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did. But people will never forget how you made them feel."

- Maya Angelou

06| bittersweet

"I lied," Oliver says.

"About what?"

"About the reason why I agreed to come with you," Oliver says.

I raise my eyebrow, "Of course you did. I can't show you unicorn poop in the middle of the night. "

Oliver stays silent. He is waiting... waiting for me to ask him why.

What would he say? Why did he come?

I hold my breath. My heart pounds. My hands sweat.

Damn it, maybe it's just something stupid.

"Why?" I ask, so low, I'm not sure he hears.

"You are smart enough to figure that out," Oliver says to me.

"Really? Of course you won't tell me! Why did I think you would?" I scoff.

I turn around and leave him in his world of silence. I reach the front door, and then I remember I can't go this way. I will wake my parents up and get caught.

So I have to climb the palm tree and get in through the window. I sigh and turn around.

Oliver is still standing there leaning against the car, waiting for me to go inside.

This guy. He still thinks I will run away. I need to give him a piece of mind.

I get down from the front stairs. Oliver straightens up. I don't give him a glance and crouch down beside the window pane as I turn around the corner. I use the same palm tree and pipe to climb up. It's hard, and I have to stop every once a while to catch my breath. Soon I am on the roof.

For a second, I consider waving down at Oliver, but I'm afraid of what I will see if I look down at him now.

I open my window and crawl inside. I pull off my shoes. My phone vibrates.

A text message.

From Something Carlson:

You might as well have joined the muggers. You've got the skills.

Me: He is a mugger, not a thief, idiot.

Carlson: Might be from the same gang. How would I know? It's your forte, not mine.

I press my lips together holding back a smile.

Me: It's called common sense, Oliver.

Oliver takes a few minutes to reply. When I'm about to throw my phone on my bed, another text message arrives.

This one says,

Ice.

He didn't forget? That makes me smile a little brighter.

I put down my phone and stare at my wrist where Oliver's handprint is. It is still pink, though it doesn't hurt. Maybe it doesn't even need ice.

But, maybe I should get some.

So I head downstairs, in search of ice.

*****

Turns out, even though I was busy messing with Oliver and Jason, my spiral days have continued like a dull headache in the back of my head. Today, I feel the existence of it a bit more strongly.