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[friend : frend : noun : a person whom one knows and with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically exclusive of sexual or family relations. ]
||H A V E N||
He came once again, like every other evening. His eyes were droopy and had bags underneath them like he hadn't slept in ages. His jet-black hair was tousled and untamed, while his eye had a light blue hue to them. He ordered the same coffee he had been ordering for a month now, with the same hopeless tone.
I watched him walk over to corner booth. He sat down and stayed still for a second. A baby was crying at a table near him which caused him to open his eyes and glare at the family.
"So, who are you shamelessly staring at?" Javier approached, drying off a cup. I broke my gaze, and looked at Javier, feeling my cheeks redden.
"What?" I asked, my voice squeaking. "I was taking orders, duh."
"Whose order?" He motioned around with his towel. There was no one in line. "Casper the ghost's order?" He chuckled, shaking his head.
I looked back at the boy. He was staring back at me. I swiftly turned my head around, and back towards Javier.
"Franco, huh?" he said, nodding towards Franco's direction. "He's, I don't know how to explain it, but that kid, he's just really messed up in the head." He shrugged continuing. "I've seen him at school, he doesn't talk to anyone and glares at practically anything that comes within his sight."
"I don't talk to anyone at school." I frowned.
"Well, yeah, but you're just a loner. You're still really kind and shit," he said, glancing back at me. "He's just really depressed and rude."
"Oh," I murmured. So, he believed all the fake-laughter, the practiced smiles, the acts of happiness. He never once stopped to look into my eyes, to realize how broken I really am.
I only laughed and patted his back. "Good one," I muttered. I rested my elbows onto the counter, my hand holding my chin in place as I looked at the boy once again. He was sipping his coffee, he stopped drinking, frowning in distaste.
I walked to his table, not realizing where I was going as my body took over my brain. He was glaring into space.
Crossing my arms, I stood by his table. "You kind of give off the impression that you want to murder everyone you look at."
He only stares at me, not a hint of emotion on his face. He quietly muttered. "It's not them I want to murder." I wonder what happened to make this boy so cold-hearted. I just don't understand why anyone would want to hurt him, much less himself.
I nodded, humming. I fiddled with my hands. I didn't really know what I was doing, or why I was sitting here across a boy who's known for being nothing more than a depressed loner.
We were sort of the same, in our own twisted way.
It was wondrous how much you'd have in common with a complete stranger.
He raised an eyebrow at me. "I don't recall telling you to sit here," he commented.
I rested my hand on my chin, looking around the café. "You just look like you need someone to talk to."
He ignored what I said, throwing the post it note towards me. "You write this?" he asked.
I read the note, laughing. It was so corny. "Yeah," I replied, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "A little goes a long way." He only nodded, somewhat distant.
"Do you go to Grandview Charter?" I didn't know whether or not to ask him this, would he be offended I never recognized him?
He didn't care if I had or hadn't. "Yeah," he said.
"Are you Lyon's brother?" I smiled. His jet-black hair and his pale complexion was similar to Lyon's.
"That's him."
"Oh, no wonder you look so familiar!"
He looked a lot like his brother, Lyons, who was more of a social butterfly. It was impossible not to know who he was. Franco seemed calm and collected, but you'd never know what's going on in someone else's mind. I couldn't even understand my own, how would I understand his?
"I've heard a bit about you," I started, remembering what Javier said. "They're all just rumours though." Like everything else in high school.
He suddenly got up, grabbing the coffee and the post it note. "It was nice talking to you." He seemed appalled by his own words, like he didn't mean it. He scrunched up the post it note into his pocket. "But I'm going to get going."
He walked a few steps, stopped and turned to look at me. "It's better if you don't try to befriend someone like me." He paused, shutting his eyes tightly. "You're only going to be left broken-hearted, and I'm only going to be six feet under." He left not saying a single word more.
The sad truth is maybe I was trying to befriend him, to find a friend who'd understand, to make it easier to stay afloat.
I managed to get up from my spot, and walked back behind the counter.
"So how'd it go?"
"What do you mean?"
"Did he, you know," his eyes wide. "tell you to get lost?"
"No?" I stated, but it came out as a question. "Did you not see us? We were talking."
"That's improvement," he sighed happily. "for the both of you!"
"We're not even friends." I mumbled. "Even if he weren't depressed, I don't even think he'd want to be friends with me.."
He slapped my back. "Anyone would want to be friends with you, alright!" he exclaimed. "Now, stop being such a downer, and prepare some orders!"
I only chuckled, but I found myself not being able to forget the hopelessness in Franco's voice.
