Who's
My pencil taps against my hand as I stare at my English assignment, unable to focus. All my mind can think about is Sicily's lips on Oliver's, the genuine smile that crossed her face.
I feel a tap on my shoulder. "Are you okay?"
"If I say yes, will you let me continue melting into a puddle of melancholy and betrayal?" I asked, my voice dragging in a low tone as I stared at my paper.
I felt Caslon's eyes look at me with concern and pity. "Why did you and Oliver break up?"
I shudder at the question, never opting to take my gaze away from my desk or else I'd break.
"He cheated on me with two other girls in one night." I answered. "And when we were dating, he'd always have plans every once in a while. Sometimes we'd fight and he'd turn it to how I was boring and useless. Yet for a while, I kept crawling back."
"You went back to him?" Caslon asked, his voice soft and mumbling.
I almost looked up but instead stared at the pencil maneuvered between my fingers. "That's what happens when you're love deprived."
"I'm sorry."
My stomach churned. "What is there to be sorry about?"
I sighed as he was rendered speechless. "Do you ever notice that? How we all say sorry for things that don't want our condolences?"
My instant thought connected to my first, dead boyfriend. I became sick of apologies once everyone said them to me at his funeral.
"I don't think it's wrong though," Caslon said sheepishly. "What's wrong with apologies?"
"Apologies are reminders." I snapped. "And who wants to remember parts of their lives they'd rather forget?"
I can feel Caslon's gaze staring at me intensely. For the first time today, my eyes meet his. And we just stare, lost in a hold of tethered thoughts.
The bell rings. I leave.
Sitting through the first few minutes of third period was nerve-racking. I wait for Sicily to fill the empty seat across from me; she always shows up to class at the last minute.
I lose grip on the words I had planned to say when she walks in trying to wipe off the remaining smudge of lipstick on her face. The sight had sickened me.
"Hey Cleo," She greets, but her attention is on anything but me as she tries to search through the abyss of clutter that is her backpack.
My nails tap against the desk. "Hey."
"Something wrong?" Sicily asks as she pulls out her folder and a pencil from her bag.
"Not really," I said with a bitter taste on my mouth. "I've just been processing some leftover messes."
Sicily hums as if she's immersed in the conversation. I scoff.
She snaps out of her daze and looks at me with innocent doe eyes.
"Did I say something?"
It's not what you said, it's what you did.
"Hey, just a random recollection." I start. "You've been bailing on our friendship time. What were you up to last Friday?"
I watch Sicily get tongue-tied. "My older brother needed help with something and I wasn't going to let him down."
"Oh," I falsely widen my eyes. "So my eyes were deceiving me when I caught you spending your Friday with Oliver Walkley."
First came the hesitation, now she was whispery and talking in stutters. "It wasn't like that if that's what you were thinking. I was trying to confront him about you two."
For a second, I couldn't believe Sicily Wells was trying to get herself out of an awfully hidden lie. "So my eyes were also fooling me when I saw you and him kissing in front of the bakery."
"Quiet, Ms. Wells and Ms. Vexer," The teacher hushed as the lesson started trickling in.
"You're a backstabber." I hissed as my eyes narrowed into slits. "I can't wait for the irony when he breaks your heart too."
"Ms. Vexer," The teacher warned.
"You know what?" I raised my voice, the room's soft noise falls flat. "I have had a heart clenching, teenage problematic realization, and I don't have the patience to be silenced by anyone at the moment. So if you'll excuse me."
I start walking towards the door, ignoring my teacher's yells and weak demands.
Playing an easy game of hide-and-seek with the staff outside, I successfully make it to my car.
After fifteen minutes, I halt my car in front of a park representing the beginning of many memories. I texted a small message to the only person I felt like talking to. I set an alarm for two-thirty pm. before falling asleep at the wheel.
I needed someone to talk to, someone I knew would advise me with total honesty. I needed a talk with the lover of my dearest friend, a fellow angered outcast, Sever Apari.