I don't understand why everything I do is wrong. Anything that goes wrong is my fault and my fault alone. No one else is ever to blame. Is that because everything truly is because of what I did or didn't do, or is it because no one can open their damn eyes and think that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't me.
I walked through the hallways at school, embarrassed. My best friend decided to tell everyone about a fight I had with my parents. It crushed me.
My face felt like it had been flushed since first period when I found out. I could swear that everyone's eyes followed me in the hallway. They were all thinking about what the fight could have been about or if my parents hit me.
To be completely honest, the fight wasn't that bad, and no, my parents don't hit me. I just thought that I could turn to my friend and that she could comfort me. I never once thought that she'd spread the word. I guess I thought wrong.
I made my way to fifth period. She was in that class. I threw my backpack in a chair far from her and let the teacher know that I was going to the bathroom.
I stared at myself in the mirror of the vacant bathroom. My hair was messy, my eyes were borderline bloodshot, my eyelashes were bunched together from my tears wetting them, and my face was still red. You could see the faint lines that my tears had made if you looked close enough.
I cupped cold water in my hands and splashed it on my face, and just stood there. I stood there and watched as the water dripped off my face to the sink or my shirt. I felt the water irritating my eyes and the droplets on my lashes blinking off, creating this nonstop cycle of discomfort and puddles on the counter. After a good ten minutes of watching myself break, I took a paper towel and dried off the remaining water on my skin.
I still looked sad. I still looked exhausted. I still looked a mess, but my skin felt a little cooler.
"Hey," I heard from behind me. I turned around to see a guy looking at me with sorry eyes. He was pitying me. I didn't want that, yet I still replied with "hey."
He stepped closer and washed off some pen that was on his hand. I assumed that's why he was here. He was probably sent out of class because we're not allowed to draw on ourselves at school.
"Wow, those are some beautiful eyes you've got there," he spoke in the silence of the bathroom. "Thank you." I was confused as to why he'd said that to me, but my face flushed anyway. He nodded and grabbed paper towels to dry off his hand with. I furrowed my eyebrows a bit as he took out a pen and put his leg on the counter, rolling up his pants.
"What are you doing," I asked, slightly taken aback by the leg in front of me. "I could ask you the same thing," he raised a brow. I smiled slightly at his attitude. "I asked you first," I retaliated. "Touché. I'm breaking all the rules," he smirked, doodling a giant, bloody skull on his ankle. "What are you doing in here," he questioned casually.
"I was um calming down," I muttered. He gave me a sympathetic smile. "Stop looking at me. The pity is practically dripping from your eyes," I sighed, fixing my hair and getting ready to walk out of the bathroom.
"No, I'm just smiling at your eyes. They have this twinkle in them that makes them so addicting," he told me, adding a dagger next to the skull on his leg. I blushed at this.
"Can I have your hand for a second," he asked. I nodded but hesitantly gave him my hand. "Can I draw on you?" I bit my lip in thought. "You can draw on my arm. I have a jacket in my backpack." He grinned and began dragging the pen across my skin. I sniffled lightly.
His tongue poked out of his mouth slightly as he drew on me. I found him interesting. "What are you drawing," I asked him. He grinned and looked up at me. "I'm drawing a cluster of outer space," he stated simply. I blushed as he kept smiling at me.
"Why're you smiling," he asked. I shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I just like you," I said slowly because I was concentrating on his drawing. "You're cute, y'know," he told me. I furrowed my eyebrows at this. "I'm a mess." He shook his head and added one last star on my arm.
"Well, you're a cute mess, then, and I like you." I felt my whole face turning red. It was different than the flush from earlier in the day. "Thanks. I've had kind of a rough day, and you've really helped me move past that." He hopped onto the counter.
"Do you want to talk about it? I'll listen," he said sweetly. I shrugged. "I don't know it's kind of personal." He nodded and went to jump down when I changed my mind. "Wait," I said quickly. He froze in his place and looked into my eyes. "Could- could I talk to you about what happened?" His smile grew, and I took that as a yes.
He helped me onto the counter with him. I was much shorter. "So, what's your story?" I laughed a bit at the way he'd phrased the question. "I- well, my parents and I got into a fight last night. They were like screaming and calling me names, but it wasn't that bad. I'm just really sensitive to yelling, so I texted my best friend to try and calm down. Then, I get to school today to find that she's told the entire school that my parents yell at me. People have been looking at me with pity and wonder of whether or not my parents hit me. They- they don't by the way," I sighed.
"I'm sorry she did that to you, but she didn't tell the entire school." He didn't have a smile on his face anymore. "What do you mean?" Then, it was back. "I didn't know," he stated simply. It was like he knew exactly what he was saying and how it would affect me. "I know you probably thought I knew and that's why I was in here talking to you, but nope. I just like you," he grinned as he spoke to me. I smiled too.
"Can I take you somewhere after school or would you rather I leave you in here?" He pursed his lips. "You can take me somewhere," I said. His smile grew. "Oh thank god," he sighed. "You won't regret this, I promise." I smile at his enthusiasm. "Anyway, cute boy, what's your name," he asked me. I blushed and told him.
"I'm Brendon."
"Nice to meet you. I'm Dallon."
