seraphic [h.s]

chapter thirty three.

The hem of my skirt flew up as the gust of wind blew. It was the only time I considered blue to not be my favourite colour— when I had work at the diner and had no choice but to wear the uniform.

I smoothed my hands over my thighs, making sure the wind wouldn't succeed in showing my cherry underwear. The blue of my uniform wasn't the light kind I liked, it wasn't refreshing, nor was it electric. Whoever had designed it, had gone for more of a muted pale blue, and I couldn't even consider it as a pastel blue. No. If there was a good word to describe what kind of blue they'd used, the word would be sad. Definitely sad.

They'd used a sad blue.

And so as I rose my tiresome lids to the sky, trying to figure out if it would rain later on, I realised my sad blue dress matched the sad blue sky.

I wondered why this Saturday morning was so gloomy. I exhaled a long breath, letting the strong urge of wanting to go home out. It had been seven days since Harry was supposed to be back home. In that time, I hadn't gotten a phone call, nor had I been informed by any band member of why they may be delayed on coming back.

Of course I hadn't. I was in the dark once again.

I brought the cigarette to my lips and inhaled my second wave of nicotine. I felt it filter through my chest, settling into my skin, allowing me to feel as though things would somehow still be okay.

"Leave some for me babe, Jesus." Avery rasped out beside me. I furrowed my brows as I eyed her, blowing the smoke to her face as she took the cigarette from my fingers, brining it to her own lips. We sat against the brick wall outside of the diner, way out the back, where only workers could take their breaks if they didn't want to sit somewhere inside. We never wanted to sit somewhere inside.

We had split the total cost of a packet of cigarettes and bought them to share between us. We did it on the rare occasion. The rare occasion being when both of our lives were genuinely shitty as can be and we had nothing else to turn to, other than the idea of being someone we probably weren't. But it worked for us.

Avery was having a shitty day because— bless her whole being— last night she had done the dirty when she thought her parents were out for the night. Turns out they weren't, they were definitely not out for the night, and so when they came back with takeout in their hands, wondering where on earth their daughter was and why there was a silver truck parked in their driveway. Their first— and reasonable— thought had been to check her room, and they did. They busted that door right open and found some random boy— random to them— balls deep in their daughter.

I knew the story so well because of how many times Avery had spewed it to me— almost quite literally. She was having an outrageously shitty day because of it. She didn't want our shift to end for the exact reason of having to go home and look her parents in the eyes. The same eyes that saw her in her most liberated state. Instead of asking her for the cigarette, I let her have it for longer than usual.

Scratching an itch on my waist, I let my head rest back against the brick, not caring if the harsh texture would wreck my two braids. I didn't even want to think about why I was having a shitty day. But I did, because I loved to torment myself.

But the more I thought about it, the more annoyed I got. Remembering how I'd heard my mother and father talk at the kitchen table early this morning, about how the band had been scheduled for some more last minute gigs, meaning they'd had to stay on for longer than anticipated. And how proud they both were that at least one of their daughters were making something of their life.

I'd listened to their whole fifteen minute breakfast, of how proud they were of Evie, of how they knew she would be the one to take her life seriously. I'd listened to it all while laying sprawled along the bottom step of the staircase.