I lied," I say still looking at his lips, he opens his eyes and gazes over at me.
"Uh oh," he whispers, not breaking eye contact. I am suddenly aware of his lingering stare. He looks at me everywhere, every inch, there was no hiding from it. His ga...
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chapter thirty-six- shitty parents
EVEN SICK I STILL HAVE TO GO TO SCHOOL. I'd already played hooky, recently, so my mom just wasn't buying it this time. My mom placed a cold firm hand over my forehead, you're fine she said and with that I was off to school, stuffy nose, sore throat, tired body and all.
I didn't want to see Dr. V, I wanted to climb into my bed and sleep until morning after school, I didn't want to have my brain picked or talk about my feelings or sit on that sofa while she scribbled note after note, it made me never want to speak at all.
I pull my hat further down over my head, cold as ice. I didn't understand why Chance insisted on sitting in the garden before the bell, the morning was cold, but sunny. My hair was poking out of the beanie, it was the longest it's ever been, it hung passed my ears. It was getting hard to manage, I didn't know what to do with it, it was long enough to put in a very small pathetic half up bun, I knew this because Nora had pinned me down to tie it up.
"Why are you so freaking cute?" She asked when she finally manhandled it on. The memory was enough to keep me from thinking about how cold my nose was.
"Dude," Chance begins. "That one sophomore is obsessed with you, she won't stop chasing me down about you, see you still got it."
I glance at him sideways. "I never lost it." I say, plainly, pulling the beanie down even further, over my ears. "Who?" I didn't know who he was talking about, there were plenty of girls at school who obsessed over me. Even after the rumors and the scandal.
Much to my surprise, some girls found my suicide attempt infatuating. They wanted to get inside my head, to fix me with their love, I was a sick little puppy to them. They thought my depression was an aesthetic, that it made me poetic or deeper than most guys my age or some stupid shit like that.
Even Astrid, at first. She treated me so nice, spoke to me smoothly, even made me go to therapy. But I didn't want that, I didn't want to be babied or treated any different than before.
"The blonde, from the winter dance?" He tries to jog my memory.
I shrug, thinking. "Oh." I sigh. "I know the one, she's a fan girl."
"Definitely," he says. "She's cute though, I'd bang'er."
"So do it," I shrug again. The topic of girls didn't interest me the way it used to, I just wanted to blab on and in about her.
I wanted to talk about her so much, mostly because I was always thinking about her, nonstop.
She's a topic I could talk about for hours. I wanted to talk about how her hair curled up when wet after a shower, how she always smacks my chest hard when I say something mean or stupid, or how sometimes when I catch her staring at me first she gets embarrassed.
