Lighthearted♡

Hot° Chocolate°

(Jai's P.O.V.)

Luke kept trying to persuade me into believing that I wasn't a freak. I almost believed him, but I simply couldn't.

I pretended to believe him though, so that I could save him the trouble. By nodding with a fake small smile, he thought he had succeeded. Silly boy. He then smiled in return and said,

"Now c'mon! The hot chocolate downstairs is probably ready."

We both then left my room, I making sure to lock my room door behind me. I didn't need anyone going in there without my permission, and seeing things they probably shouldn't. In all honesty, I'm not sure why I allowed Luke into my room. He saw a lot of my drawings and paintings, some of which can be "disturbing". Well, at least he didn't go into my closet, because I'm sure he'd look at me with horrified eyes and never the same.

Anyways, we went downstairs and into the kitchen. Beau was there as well, and he already had a milkstache staining his upper lip. Two mugs were set on the table, most likely belonging to Luke and I, since mum was already drinking her's.

Luke picked one mug up and handed it to me, before picking one up for himself. Luke blew into his drink for a second, to try and cool it I suppose, and then he took a small sip. I was confused by his actions though. Why did he blow into his drink? Was our hot chocolate supposed to be hot? Mine wasn't. Well, I guess I wouldn't know if it actually was or not. I never understood hot chocolate, and perhaps it was because, I couldn't feel the heat that was supposed to be felt on my tongue. So to me, it was just flavored milk in a mug.

But every time it snows, my mum makes hot chocolate to "warm us up". I try my best to behave normally, but it's hard because, I don't know what it's like to drink actual HOT chocolate. Though, I blew into my drink as well, pretending that it would cool off my drink.

My mum smiled at me, a smile of pity that I recognized all to well, and I was very tempted to throw my mug onto the floor to watch it shatter. Though, I decided to except the fact that she, or anyone as a matter of fact, would always always always give me a piteous smile.

I DON'T WANT PITY! I WANT HER TO SMILE AT ME LIKE SHE SMILES AT LUKE! I WANT HER TO LAUGH WITH ME LIKE SHE LAUGHS WITH BEAU! I DON'T NEED HER, OR ANYONE, TO TREAT ME LIKE A FRAGILE PIECE OF GLASS! I-

"Jai? You alright?" Luke snapped me out the rant I was having in my head. I looked around the kitchen, and noticed that my whole family was staring at me. Perhaps it was because, they had all finished their drinks, and my mug was still half full.

"I'm fine." I shrugged, and then began to chug down my drink. I gulped it all down, wiped my mouth with my sleeve, and then placed my mug in the sink. I then went back up to my room, not listening to whoever had called my name.

I rummaged through the pockets of my pants, smiling to myself when I felt a familiar small key. I pulled it out of my pocket, and then I unlocked my door. Once I got inside, I locked my door again behind me, and I shoved the key to my room back into my pocket. I didn't want anyone to try to barge in or something.

I then began to do what I always did when my mind became cloudy and troubled. I crouched down to the floor and I looked under my bed for a set of familiar jars. Once I saw them, I pulled out a set of at least five jars. All of which were full of paint. I opened the lid of one of the jars, and then I dipped the both of my hands into its paint.

My right, and left hand were now dipped and coated with black paint. I then walked into my closet, the place where absolutely NO ONE is allowed. Not even you. Yes you, the one reading this story. Though, I suppose you can come in with me. It's not like you'll tell Luke or anyone right?

Anyway, I went into my closet and went towards the wall in the back. My closet was quite big, and there wasn't much clothes in it. Simply because, a majority of my clothes were in the dresser across my bed. The wall in the back was colorful, and it had little paintings all over it. Each little picture had a small story or feeling behind it. I usually come in here when I'm upset, so the wall isn't exactly a bright pink with flowers all over it. No, it had dark colors splattered all over it and pictures of ripped up hearts and shattered smiles.

With my black painted hands, I began to draw in an empty space on the wall. I drew different images, that seemed to describe how I felt at the moment.

I don't really think about what I'm creating within the moment because, usually my mind goes blank and my hands control themselves. When I finally finish, I get to take a look at what I made, and I usually spend quite some time trying to figure out what my hands had created.

This time, one little picture I painted stood out to me more than the other images I had just created. It was a picture of a mug, filled with frowning faces and a harsh word.

"FREAK"

Was the word written in the mug. See? Even when I'm not mentally focused, my hands write out what I am on their own. It must be true. No wait, IT IS TRUE.

While everyone else enjoys hot chocolate on a snowy day, loving the warmth it gives them when it runs down their throat, I can't. I'm a freak. A freak that doesn't know what hot chocolate should feel like.

It's just flavored milk in a mug to me.

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Thoughts on this chapter? Please? Are u liking the book so far?

Ily all!♥︎