His Broken Angel

Chapter Thirty-Seven: We're Just Friends

A/N

This is going to be a short note, but really tired today. My feet hurt like hell, but still going!

Even my fingers are cramping. . . Anyways, I really want to thank everyone, and I seriously mean everyone who's voted for my story. We're at 3k and it made me so happy (still happy) that we reached there! Thanks guys!

Please read, vote, comment, and enjoy!

Next Update: Sunday
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His Broken Angel

Chapter Thirty-Seven: We're Just Friends

Seeing the whole painting in front of me made my stomach turn. We were in the warehouse. Reese was making some sandwiches while I stared at the painting.

We weren't there. Why? Because we didn't freakin know what we were.

This was already stressful.

I mean, he could just paint us as friends. Friends that are having fun together but not that kind of "fun".

I'll stop thinking this crap.

"You want mayo on your sandwich?" Reese asked.

"No!" I shouted back.

Even if I wanted to stop thinking about all that crap, it didn't stop! It continuously invaded my mind as we ate our sandwiches in silence. I couldn't even focus on chewing since I nearly swallowed a whole bite of bread.

I was literally crying internally.

"How are your parents?" he asked suddenly.

I flashed back to reality. "What?"

"Your parents? How are they?"

"Oh. . . I guess okay? Harr-Dad is feeling better and I haven't see him. . . And Mom still in a coma," I sighed.

Harry was awake, and I hadn't see him or visited him at all. What kind of foster daughter was I?

"How are you?"

We made eye contact which made me freeze. How was I? Gosh, I've never really thought about that. I've been messed up for years, hurting myself, sometimes without a reason.

I've never really known how I've felt these past years.

Other than feeling like utter crap.

"Um, fine. Not really in the mood to talk about anything, really."

Reese let out a small oh that made me feel even sicker than ever. I wrapped up my leftover sandwich bits and threw them away. Now I was left with a grim expression while Reese finished his sandwich.

I sighed, "When are you going to paint us on there?"

He looked surprised at my sudden mood change. Not a surprise to me though.

"I told you-"

"We're friends, Reese. Friends. Couldn't you just paint us as friends?"

"You say friends in a really bad way as if it were a bad thing," he sighed.

"It's not!" I shrieked. "You're the one who's making it feel like a bad thing."

"How?"

"With you not painting us on the wall, that says enough."

"So it's my fault," he responded flatly.