Her Pacifier: Secrets From The Past

Chapter 3

I'm beyond ashamed and embarrassed for what I've done. The guilt in my veins swallows me whole then vomits me right out, back to reality to face the results for my actions.

This is the second worst day of my life!

If I was still in America none of this would've happened.

We're in the nurse's office sitting opposite each other in black office chairs. She barely looks at me and hasn't said anything to me since the terrible crash. The nurse left to get some bandages for my hand and crême for her burnt bosom. We're sitting in absolute silence staring out the windows, the dolphin sculptures on the nurse's desk, the brick walls then back at the windows behind the nurse's desk. My heart is beating so loud, I swear she can hear it beating, pumping and thudding because I can hear it.
The nurse gave her an ice pack to place on her chest and two glasses of water to chill it's heat. I doubt it's chilled because she keeps looking down at her chest, pulls the collar of her jersey to peak inside then stares at what I'm staring - nothing.

"Listen, I'm really sorry. That never should've happened," I say with my face turned to hers.
She silences and keeps her eyes to the steamy windows. I'm not sure if I should carry on apologising but I need her to know that I'm sincerely sorry.

"It was an accident and I had no idea you were by the corner."
Cue: Silence.

"I- I was late for class and I just had to check my phone for the time. Then the hot chocola-"

"Do you think it's accurate to spill boiling hot chocolate on someone?" She snaps, interrupting my rambling with her eyes glaring at me. My hot chocolate was not boiling but I dare not correct her for saying it was. I'm glad she finally said something but I'm not glad for what she said. She's making it seem like it's my fault. Sure it is...but not entirely!

Ugh.

"I'm just telling you I'm genuinely sorry fo-"

"I've heard enough of it so you can just stop," she interrupts me again.

Her British accent is so rich that it convinces me she's from here. She doesn't look like she is though. I freeze and have nothing else to say. She glances back to the window and releases a breath she was holding. Pathetic.
I curse myself for ever trying to buy hot chocolate from that creepy blonde girl's stand ever again in future.

The walls are closing in.
Think! Think! Think!

Then I remember mom's words;

"Aggressiveness needs something softer to calm it down. To trick it then defeat it."

I turn to the window then glance at her gorgeous, thick brown curls. They're wild, soft and free and suit her so beautifully. It would be a dream come true to push my long fingers through their locks and play with them. I gulp and open my mouth to talk, "Hey," I say softly.
That's the only word that comes out and I'm blessed it did because she slowly looked my way. I know it's the deep voice I inherited from my dad that grasps her attention, it sounds deeper and smooth when serene. She met my eyes for the very first time and I get to admire her beauty attentively with no interruptions.

Black is a colour I'll never get over after today. That's her race. Her skin is caramel brown and even though it is, believe me, it shines like pearls. Her eyes are green and I'm stunningly gazing at her irises wondering how some black children are born with colourful irises like us whites. That's amazing. Her pink glossy lips slowly departure and I'm ready for another angry remark but a trembling breath escapes.
She grasps her track pants with her dark purple nails and steals a couple stares of my black eyes and ear piercings.