Sunday, 26 June 2011

Exit. Chapter 7

I regret the fact that I don’t have my hat on, but I pull it on quickly as he makes his way to the mirror. He tilts his head sideways avoiding eye contact with me, as he pulls his head by his chin to the other side, his eyes most likely fixed on his high cheekbones. Then he looks back at the mirror leaning his hands against the sink, crossing his legs. His teal eyes catch my dark ones for a second, before he leans his head backwards staring at the ceiling for a brief second.

“Hey.” A conversation in the girl’s bathroom? I could actually eye him, but I do nothing as I keep brushing my teeth, ignoring him as if I have my headphones. I keep my pajamas’ sleeves down as the scribbles are faded out but still could be seen. That would actually happen if he actually took it and his eyes were as pale as the scribbles, his teal eyes running from the end of my palm up to my elbow.

I wonder if I should give him a ‘dude, did you see the sign on the door or the signs on the walls or the freaking pink paint?’ or rather say it out loud. But I do nothing. I spit out the minty water, looking at the sink feeling his gaze upon me. I look at him quickly, feeling uneasy, as he looks down then back up.

I expect him to place his palms under his chin or shrug say ‘suit yourself’ and walk away.
Or rather I expect Leslie to walk in, grab him by the collar, despite my lack of interest in violence.

Nothing like that happens. I raise my fingers to tap the sink in annoyance but then I get my whole self in a knot and open to mouth something as he waits for my reaction.

“Hey.” I say that aloud, as he smiles at my reaction. Then satisfied he leans back from the sink, stuffing his hands in his pockets smirking at a joke in his head. Should I be cold? Should I stare into his eyes trying to make myself seem like an ice queen? Should I hold myself from showing interest?

Not like I liked the teal eyed taller male in front of me, as he hesitated for a while, plunging his hands deeper and deeper into his pockets as if they could fade away along with him, from crawling to the staircase and into his floor.

Why could I not show my emotions ever? What was wrong with trailing your fingers upon the face, touching the cheekbones, running your thumb upon the bottom lip, planting kisses all over? Why was the fate like that when we had to keep the bursting emotion inside us, hiding any possibility on the outside? Why the longer we kept cold the longer would it last? Why were we told this is how it works when it doesn't?

I splashed more water on face, hiding the question playing on my lips. I didn’t know him. I had never seen him before, as if he was a mirage. I wanted to stretch out my hand as see if he was real, knowing that maybe he was a grade older.


He looked older.

Maybe he was one of the teachers only looking all child-like? No. Why would a teacher be stalking girls in a bathroom?

Are you stalker? That question was playing on my lips, as I felt his gaze, as he leaned against the wall. I washed it off with colder water, as drops wet the tips of my sleeves and soaked the front bangs of hair, as the drops travelled down my neck. I rub them off with my towel, as he struggled with some sort of sentence stuck on his lips.

“What’s your name?”

“What’s yours?”

I had no possibility of muting him out unless I did something cheesy which was not in my intention, though I caught myself glancing at his lips for a brief question. He chuckled at my reaction and said nothing. He quickly shook his head at the door, leaning from the wall, rocking on his heels twice before heading towards the door.

Should I say g’bye?

What if he was some outsider who broke in to steal? I looked at his walking off back and saw no signs of robbery, well, noticeable ones and his face didn’t seem like the ones you saw in the news with ‘I robbed, what’s your problem, oi?’

“See you.”

Indeed. Right.

I struggled, not hearing any sign of a closing door, knowing that he was expecting an answer straight from my own mouth, not from my iPod coded by music or said out loud by somebody else. I tapped my fingers against the sink. I walked leaving my toothbrush and everything else near the sink.

“Right. Sure.” I said not sounding sure. He turned his head, smirked and walked out, giving me a sudden desire to mute out the thoughts of our brief encounter.


This should be my most reread scene, as I love them way too much and this scene in particular. The idea for this scene came as I walked into the girl's bathroom and a guy was in it, who just apologized and exited. I don't even remember who it was, but I guess I remembered it as I was writing the scene.

(2015): This scene and the whole novel and the bloke were based off Thom Yorke in the High and Dry video, remember the bathroom scene?

Chapter 8

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