It Wasnt My Fault (DNF)

Part 1: Chapter 2

"If you don't have the money to pay for that, I'll buy it for you." he says.

I just stare at him, wondering why he was talking to me and being remotely compassionate.

Ken is beside the man, looking him up and down, walking around him and gazing at him scrutinizingly.

The man slides past me and over to the register, telling the cashier that he'd pay for my drink and giving him his own order.

Minutes later, the beverage is being handed to me.

I look at is, giving a watery chuckle at the nostalgia of the drink.

The small chocolate shavings that rest over the cream, a thin layer of cinnamon sitting atop the entire orange drink.

It was exactly how the way I remember it when Ken handed it to me when I was 14.

I look up at the blonde, giving him a smile, the first smile I'd given anyone other than my ghost of a brother in years.

"What's your name?" I ask, taking the cup from his hand and walking towards the entrance of the shop.

"I'm Clay." he says. "But my friends call me Dream."

"Alright," I say, taking a sip from the straw in front of me. "What can I call you?"

"It depends," he says, walking down the sidewalk with me, a mutual agreement forming between us to walk together. "Do you want to be my friend?"

I smile again, surprising myself in the act. "Yeah, I'll be your friend. I'm George."

We stop at a curb and I hold my hand out for a handshake, having it be accepted moments later.

After exchanging phone numbers with each other, we go our separate ways down the street.

Dream pov

I woke up today after a long night.

I promised to get better today.

I promised to go out today.

Getting up, my back pops and my limbs groan after being unused for months of me laying in my bed with minimal movement.

I was out of the house in an hour, it taking longer for me to go through the motions of morning hygiene than it did a few months ago.

I exited my apartment, walking down the street aimlessly, turning into a coffee shop I remember going to with my old friends.

With my old girlfriend.

With my old mother.

I couldnt dwell on that now.

I walk inside, standing behind a short brunette boy.

He stated his order as I peered around the shop.

Hearing a sniffle, my attention is brought back to the customer in front of me, who is wiping his eyes and checking his wallet, his dark eyes shining with disappointment as he backs away, disregarding his order for his lack of funds.

He bumps into my chest, and I attempt to be friendly to him, reminding myself that I was attempting to get better.

Unfortunately, I was faking.

I have to take a moment to compose myself, attempting to be real.

Attempting to be myself.

I relax my face into an easy smile, offering to pay for the boy's coffee.

He doesn't respond, seeming confused at the thought of an interaction with someone.

I pay for the drinks, feeling exhausted, however better than I did when I had the draining facade on.

The mask I couldn't take off until now.

I just hoped people liked me without it.

I hand the boy the cup, his eyes peering at me with gratitude, dark pupils shining with bittersweet memories.

He smiles at me.

"What's your name?" he asks, his voice nothing above a whisper, but i could hear the British accent buried somewhere in it.

We walk out of the coffee shop.

"Clay, but my friends call me Dream." I lie.

I had no friends.

They left me to the dreamlike state that left me to create marks on my wrists of my nightmare of a life.

"What can I call you?" he asks, his voice growing louder, more comfortable.

"That depends. Do you want to be my friend?"

Fuck, why did I say that.

That was stupid.

I sounded pathetic.

He's gonna leave me.

I could never have a friend.

I needed to cu-

"Yeah, I'll be your friend. I'm George."

Everything comes to a standstill.

Our footsteps cease as the cars beside the sidewalk come to a stop in front of the red light.

He reaches his hand out towards mine for a handshake, which i am quick to accept.

Having exchanged phone numbers, I walk away from him, feeling happy, but a small bit of the depression I hoped to escape festering inside my heart, only forgotten temporarily.

No one escapes that easily.

Aaaand done.

I've already written 1384 words, and literally only one important thing happened, I don't know how I keep milking it for words.

Oh, well.

We're gonna try to lessen the amount of angst because strwbrriekitty is learning my ways, and we don't need Wattpad being taken over with angsty stories full of death amongst other things.

Anyway, you guys are loved.

I care for you, and I'm here if you want to talk about literally anything.

If you want to collaborate on a book, i always forget to say, just lmk in the comments on my account. I'm open to any DNF book collabs.

You're all the best!

Also, first commenter for this book also goes to strwbrriekitty . Ma bestie!

1500 words