RIVER→ Sodapop Curtis

09

I felt a pit at the bottom of my stomach and I knew I didn't want to get close to another person. They're just going to die and leave like they always do.

"What's there to tell?" I shrugged, continuing to watch the floating clouds.

I could feel him staring at me and I pretended not to notice. "Oh, c'mon, Dakota. I know some about you, but I really don't know that much. You're not really an open book, you know?"

I chuckled. "Yeah, and I'd like to keep it that way."

He sat up and continued to keep his gaze on me. "At least tell me one thing."

I sat up with him and sighed. "Alright, one thing."

He raised his eyebrows for me to continue and I thought of what I should say to him. There's many things I could say, but I don't want to say the wrong thing.

"I love poems."

He smiled. "Poems, huh? You and Pony would get along just fine. Do you write poems?"

I nodded. "I write and read poems."

"Can you read me one of the poems you wrote?" He asked, his voice eager.

Someone's actually excited to read my poems.

"When I show my parents my poems, they usually just shrug and say that it's not going to get me in college or a job that makes good money." I laughed, but it wasn't a happy laugh. More of a 'sad because my life sucks' laugh.

[same.]

I ran to my car quickly and pulled out my book. The leather object felt cool as ice against my skin, making a small smile curl at the ends of my lips. I sat back down beside Soda, wrapping the blanket around me once again.

I looked at him and I got nervous. "A-are you sure you want to listen to this?"

He put his hand on my shoulder. "I'd love to listen to it."

I took a deep breath and rifled through the pages in my book, almost every single page filled with my cursive writing over the course of five years. I stopped on a random page and when I saw the title of the poem, I knew this was the one to read.

HEARTBREAKS AS TYPES OF PAIN:
I. The Headache: your mother doesn't let you take a day off school for this one. sometimes it's like it's not even there. sometimes it's nails digging into the back of your skull. sometimes it's classroom nausea and spinning. it doesn't stay still, moves to your eyes, to your face and the sides of your head. it keeps you up some nights, the nag of it all, the weight of it all. when it's gone you don't even notice.

ii. The Flu: this one keeps you in bed for a week. you think your lungs forgot how to breathe. you feel him with his hands around your neck. feel the throb of it in your palms and your face. you stop eating because he sits at the bottom of your stomach. because your throat aches with the taste of him. this one turns you ice-cold, makes you forget what warmth felt like.

iii. The Open Wound: you can't stop picking at it. the blood sticks to all your favorite shirts, turns them dark red and warm. it stings when he touches you, stings when he tries to hold you, stings when he tries to kiss you. it stings when you try to sleep. your mother tells you to see a doctor, tells you to cover it up. you say this hurt makes it real.

iv. The Broken Knee: this one leaves a bruise. leaves you on crutches for months. it aches when you move, when you try to run. you carry it around with you like another limb, like he never even left. the pain of it is fresh, like the moment of impact, like the first fall."

-Heartbreaks as Types of Pain

[of course I didn't write the poem. credits to poemsporn_ on instagram and rbcages]

Once I finished reading the words I wrote on the piece of paper, I waited patiently for Soda to say something. He was silent for a moment, like he knew what to say, but no words could form in his mouth.

"T-that w-was.... beautiful, Dakota. You're very gifted." He stuttered, continuing to read the words I wrote just last night.

I wasn't going to tell him I wrote it last night, though.

He turned the page and landed on another poem. "Drunk Love? What's this one about?"

[AHA that's a name of one of my stories. *sighs* flashback.]

I quickly closed the book and stood up, my heart beating rapidly. "It's nothing. I don't want anyone reading that poem."

He knitted his eyebrows in confusion, and I knew he had a million questions to ask, but he just nodded, knowing that it was a soft spot to hit. We continued to talk after that and I didn't tell him anything else about me.

Of course, he tried to find out something, but I just... can't do that. At least not yet. And it's going to take a whole lot of trust if he ever wants to see that poem.

I don't think he ever will.

→←

aww, this was one of my favorite chapters to write.

#KOTAPOP's relationship is developing, ah yes

and thank you to -endingquote for giving me ideas for this chapter, you da best. I appreciate you.

lmao, enough with DJ Khaled.

anyways, peace out

[you know I have to end this out with an Office GIF]