Episode Twelve:
COULD'VE BEEN FOREVER
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E L L I O T T ' S P O V :
Tick.
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Tock.
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Tick.
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Tick.
For the love of – No, you're fine.
"Elliott, quit sitting there like a pile of shit and at least pretend to be doing something productive," Mrs. Stein glanced down at me, pencil behind her ear, and nose long and pointy as she criticized my lack of enthusiasm for the after school detention.
Yes, you heard correctly – detention. On the last and most important game of the season. Pardon my manners, but how the hell is that reasonable? Sure, I did wrong, but that asshole had it coming.
He hit first for crying out fucking loud!
Can you tell I'm pissed?
"I don't get why I have to do jack, it's detention."
"Yes, well, it would benefit you to work on assignments your teachers have given you. We are very lenient and kind for letting you do this," she defends, and I just send her away with a glare.
Tick.
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Tock.
"Can I go to the bathroom?" I yell, and a few heads turn in my direction at the sudden burst of noise in a no talking atmosphere, but I don't really give a shit. I got a game to prepare for.
"No." She sneers, and I look up to the ceiling groaning.
"I can't control my bladder ma'am. Serious problem, I really think I should go," I lie, and the whole class turns away completely and utterly disturbed. The teacher raises her eyebrows before putting on a repulsive face and pointing to the door defeated.
"Thanks ma'am," I smile, and she stares back at me with daggers for eyes. Sucker.
But really, why the hell am I here – and not him?
Oh! That's right, his dad can pay for him to get out of anything and the teachers just stopped trying. Not to mention his kiss ass, teachers pet, face would probably escape punishment anyways.
I head down to my locker grabbing a few things before jogging to the outside window of the class we'd been sitting in.
Smile and wave.
The teacher stands up and throws a tantrum, face red, and voice hoarse as she 'demands' that I get back in the room. Funny, I don't want to.
I shouldn't be in there if he isn't.
Especially not game day, when the team relied upon me to do everything anyway.
Simple as that folks, there's my reasoning.
Bolting down the street, grin on my face, I find the old clunker in the lot and slow down to get in. Radio on, I pull out of the space and speed down the street in an effort to get away from the witch that's probably screaming to her authorities right this minute.
The smallest part of me knows I deserve to be sitting in that room.
I just ignore it.
Pulling over into Victor's Groceries, I remember to pick up the milk I promised Mom.
Shit.
She's gonna know I was late, she's gonna ask why.
Shit.
Pounding my fist against the steering wheel, I get out of the car and curse myself for always choosing instinct over logic – more like common sense.
Opening the doors to the store is more than refreshing, a burst of the AC blowing down on me. I would keep walking, but a familiar voice chimes from around the corner and I take a minute to decipher what it's saying.
"Sir, no, you can't get 10% off. I know – we are so s-sorry, but that's just not how it works. If I had a say, and could do whatever I wanted, you would get the 10% off – No, I can't just do it, Sir."
None other than Fawn Lockhart stands behind the register growing more and more irritated in her green apron, explaining to an old man how their senior discount works. The man most likely too young for the discount, but insisting he should get it because he's 'close enough'.
"Miss – " he glances down to her name tag, "Fawn, Miss Fawn, I'm 59 – don't try to tell me that because I'm not quite 60 I can't get your discount!" He yells.
"Sir, I just c-can't,"
"Yes you can! Who's gonna find out young lady?" The old man whistles, and I can only watch as Fawn's shoulders tighten to her sides, and her voice goes to the eerily passive aggressive tone I'm used to hearing.
"My boss, the company, other employees. They'd find out. Sir, I'm s-sorry – if you'd like to speak with a manager – "
"Yes, a manager," he huffs, as Fawn calls the manager down.
I choose to leave, no longer interested in whatever is going on over there.
Strolling down to the milk section I grab a gallon of the cheapest one there, and head back down to the check out lines. Down at the end you can see the old man chatting to the manager of the store – still insisting he needs a discount.
Fawn sighs into her hands, leaving the two of them to their own devises and freezes when she sees me waiting in line to be checked out.
"I'm all for discounts and everything, but that man – he takes the cake, huh?" I smile, and she seems to awaken from whatever trance she'd been caught in before responding.
"You aren't f-funny," she sneers.
"Hey!" I yell mockingly, knowing good and well that humor isn't exactly my thing.
"Really," she spits, and I have to take a look at her again to realize she's not in a particularly good mood. Face stern and seemingly restraining a cry of frustration.
"Chill out, I was just saying," I mutter, and she sparks back.
"We aren't friends."
I don't know what to say to that really.
"Okay," I mumble.
"Just because we talked a few days ago, doesn't mean that I give two shits about you E-Elliott. I know what you're doing you know, what you d-did a few days ago, now today – Elliott, you hate me. I'm not about to believe that you s-suddenly had a change of heart because you saw me crying,"
"Well, fuck me for trying to not be a douche for once,"
"T-Tell me why then! What made you open your eyes Elliott? Cause it sure as hell wasn't my pathetic breakdown a few days ago – don't even try to say that. You d-don't care, you never will, and it's frustrating that after everything we've done to each other, you're stooping this low."
"I'm not doing anything! I'm just trying to be nice! Fawn, I saw you shattered the other day –"
"I told you not to go there," She whimpers, and I realize now that she's on the verge of tears.
"Fawn, don't – "
"Leave! I checked out your goddamn milk Elliott! Are you happy now? Or are you – the one person who I knew would never p-pity me, the one person who would always see me for more than someone else's chew toy – are you just having a little fun with my emotions now?" She cries.
"Fawn," I reach out to rub her shoulder, and when the skin makes contact I pull away, adrenaline rushing through my veins as she stares up at me.
"And you do that," she laughs sadly, "Why that? Why the fuck are you d-doing that? Just to rub it in? How pathetic I am? Just –"
"I'm not trying to do anything, Fawn,"
She stares at me for a minute, could've been forever.
"I don't believe you." She states, and shoves the milk into my arms, "And I don't need you – either."
And with that she pulled out her phone, dialed a number and smiled – tried so very hard to smile as she sweetly said into the cell phone.
"Hey Lawrence? Can I have a ride back to my house?"
And then I remembered why I hated her.
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A U T H O R ' S N O T E :
I hate kickball. I hate kickball. I hate kickball. Okay, sorry me venting from my day at school, moving on. What did you guys think of the chapter, sorry these are coming out later in the day now, just with school and after school stuff I typically start writing these pretty late. It's also the reason why there are a lot of stupid spelling, and grammar word things wrong, and then try to catch them later. Whatever. . . Hope you all have a great night, and sleep peacefully.
Q U E S T I O N S :
Thoughts on him sneaking out of detention?
Thoughts on his discussion with Fawn?
Enjoy the chapter?
Anything else?
Just a curious little cat, ^meow^
Post again Sunday!
- tat <3