A couple of people turned to Frances with pitying looks in their eyes. Frances buried her head in her arms, crying. She didn't understand what was happening to her.
A couple of seconds later, she felt the seat next to her creak as someone sat down on it. Frances didn't look up. She knew it wasn't Theodosia and she didn't want to face anyone at the moment.
An arm wrapped comfortingly over her shoulder and a hand stroked her arm, similar to the soothing actions that a parent would have. Frances leaned into the person's shoulder for a minute, then peeked out from her tear-stained sweatshirt sleeves to find herself looking into the clear, green, concerned eyes of Philip Hamilton.
Jerking away, she huffed. "What, are you here to rub it in? What do you want?"
Philip sensed her irritation and removed his arm from her, trying not to make her uncomfortable. "I just want to help. I saw what happened and I'm sorry."
Frances sniffled, wiping her eyes, and glared. "I don't need your help. This is your fault to begin with."
Philip didn't take the bait and fire back. Instead, his gaze took on a look of mild disapproval, again one resembling that of a parent's, but his voice remained soft. "Then why is Theodosia mad at you?"
Frances shut her mouth and swiped her sleeve across her face to dry her tears angrily. She could feel her face burning. She was nowhere near about to admit it, but Philip was right.
"I'm sorry I said that, it was out of line," Philip finally said. "Can... can you tell me what it is about me that you hate so much? I want to know what it is that bothers you so I can stop."
Frances buried her face in her arms again, wanting to be comforted by someone that wasn't whom she was trying so hard to hate.
"If I didn't make it clear before, I don't want to talk to you," Frances shot back sullenly.
"I'm sorry, Frances, but please... I just want to understand."
"And I want you to understand that I don't want to talk to you!" Frances snarled, whirling on him. As she did, her arm swung around, not knowing that Philip was in the process of leaning in to give her a hug.
Her swinging fist made contact with his face, which whipped to the side from the force.
Her hands immediately flew over her mouth where she sat, wide-eyed, processing what she had done. "Oh my God I am so sorry, Philip, I didn't mean to hit you at all, I'm so so sorry." Frances frantically tried to backpedal, but Philip, who was leaning over his knees, hair blocking his face, whipped around, glaring.
The back of his hand was pressed against his nose, and when he drew it away, it was stained red. Snatching the napkin off of Frances' lunch tray, he growled, "I was just trying to be nice. I haven't done a Goddamn thing to you and you insist on being such a selfish brat all the time! What the fucking hell am I doing wrong, Frances?!"
"Philip, no, Philip, I didn't mean it I swear, I'm sorry." Frances felt the tears return, overcoming the shock.
"Right, and you're sorry about what, exactly?" The look Philip gave her, that she could see in his eyes that nothing she could say would repair what she did, the look of pure, cold betrayal, hurt more than anything.
Frances was pleading, desperate, tears staining her cheeks. "I'm sorry that I hit you! I didn't mean to, I didn't know you were right there, that's what I'm sorry about!"
Philip's gaze turned from infuriated, from betrayed and angry, to empty and annoyed and just done with her. "You're so dense, Frances," he muttered. "That's not what I'm angry about."
Something inside of Frances began to hurt when she realized that the most positive person she had ever known was giving up on her.