Running For Miles | ✓

53 ➳ The Kian Thing

RUNNING

FOR  MILES

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

I was sitting in my boring math class, where I was watching the clock's hands count down until we were released from this horrid class. My trance was soon broken by a person tapping me on the shoulder.

I peeked over my shoulder; I was met with a girl. I'm pretty sure her name was Carly, she had pretty blonde hair and pale skin while her eyes were a green color much like mine, but what took me by surprise was a folded piece of paper in her hand.

She moved forward and extended her arm out to me, "It's from the new kid." she whispered with a smile as I looked over her shoulder and I was met with a smirking 'Dallas'.

My eyes widened, "No thank you." I blurted out which made Carly roll her pretty eyes, "I think it's for you, he must be wrong." I laughed awkwardly as she quickly flicked it onto my desk.

"It's supposed to be for you silly, just open it." she encouraged me for some weird reason, "It's probably his number and he's rather handsome if you ask me." she purred while sitting back in her chair as she bit her lip, stealing a quick glance at him before she went back to looking at the front of the classroom.

Slowly I turned around and faced the board, just like Carly had done, minus the part where she looked back at 'Dallas'. I tried to keep my attention on what the teacher was talking about but curiosity was taking over as I couldn't handle not knowing what was written on the paper in front of me.

Surprisingly, Boston has laid low ever since his argument with Lakyn. Which is a good thing as he hasn't sat with us too much lately, as every time he goes to try Lakyn glares at him and makes it crystal clear that he isn't welcome to be near us.

I really do love Lakyn being cold and horrible, times like these it comes in handy.

Lakyn can somewhat keep him away but he sadly can't keep Boston's eyes from landing on me, eyes that must have lasers built into them as they seem to burn holes right through me.

I let out a hushed sigh as I gave into temptation and grasped the note in my small hands. Slowly and carefully I opened it as I wished that this was some sick prank but when I saw his strangely, neat, handwriting that I was all too familiar with.

The note readout;

CAN WE TALK? -B

Oddly enough I found myself smiling at how he writes, he's always had such neat handwriting, the teachers used to gawk at how neat it was as normally the boys in their classes had such horrible and scratchy writing that you could barely read at all.

Boston had always liked the look of his words to be in all capitals, he had said that it was somehow aesthetically pleasing to him, even though he knew it wasn't how you're supposed to write but he didn't care.

Suddenly I felt sick, the pure thought of my once torturer wanting me to allow myself to happily talk to him as if he hadn't abused me for years, didn't help my queasy stomach. What is seriously wrong with him? What is honestly telling him that after all this time I would allow myself to talk to that despicable and disgusting human being?

All I could think about was how disgusted I was and how close I am to throwing up the contents of my stomach, which just so happened to be a breakfast burrito from Melrose's coffee shop and an iced coffee.

Not being able to handle it any longer, as I could literally feel the vomit coming up my throat and out of my stomach, I threw my hands over my mouth as I got up quickly, running out of the classroom and down the hallway to the bathrooms.