Picasso's Promise

Episode 29| The Game

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Picasso's P.O.V.

I was a man of my word.

And after crossing ways with Sydney, I had hoped that she was the same, understand the importance in being truthful. I hated liars; I couldn't stand people who preferred lying to my face than giving me a slice of honesty.

Throwing my binder on my desk, I strolled into class only seconds after the bell. Sydney was in her seat, talking to Danielle when I got to my seat. She spun around, scooting to my side with a look of joy. I wish I could see what she was thinking, wanting to know what she gained from lying to me.

I gave her one glance, then faced the board and entirely ignored her hello.

"Picasso?"

I granted her silence.

"Hey, what's wrong?" she asked, spotting my sour mood. "Why are you upset?"

"I don't know, maybe you can ask Mr. Langston this weekend why I'm mad." I stole a gaze, narrowing my eyes. Her mouth opened, probably to lie to me for a second time, but I didn't give her a chance. "Save your excuse. I know what you tried to do after homeroom."

"Huh?"

"I told you I have eyes all over this school and you thought I won't find out?" I scoffed. "Have fun. Go to his house. I don't care anymore since you don't care about how I feel. If shit goes wrong, don't expect me to come and get you."

"I swear I didn't," I heard from Danielle. My best guess was that she was giving her hell, thinking that she was the one to inform me.

"Picasso-"

I flatten my hand on the side of my face, "I don't wanna talk to you about it anymore. I'm trying to listen to the teacher. If it doesn't have to do with class, don't say it."

From the corner of my eye, I saw her mouth hang open, gasping for words to say but coming out quiet.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

I couldn't help but laugh. "You haven't stopped lying."

"I'm not-"

"You're sorry you got caught." I interrupted.

Part of me wanted to tell her what I found out about her father, and about my own, but figured she didn't deserve the truth if I didn't either.

❀

I fucking hate people.

They're full of disappointment, lies, and misguided appreciation that falls flat when it comes time to prove yourself. I needed to close up shop and stop handing out fucks to give for people who can't manage to keep their promises.

So that, in short, is why I fucking hate people.

But from the way the world work, so does everyone else. No one gives a shit about me or my livelihood. I could be dead on the side of the road, breathing and panting for air, and still society would remain unfazed at my last moments. I'm aware my particular opinion on the human population isn't revolutionary or in the slightest bit original. Woe is me, I supposed, for giving a shit about the ones who can't be bothered to be there for me.

I can blame my mom for that. For caring so much on all the worst possible people-starting with her. You can't hate me for trying to love an alcoholic that looks like me, laughs like me, and once swore to never hurt me. I acted like I saw something in some people-goodness, I guess. But people have a knack for lying about their kindness, masking it with innocence to shield their true vicious toxicity.