Exit. Chapter 8

I have him in my head for a while.

White button up shirt.
Loose tie.
Dark pants.
I give him Converse as I don’t remember what he had on his feet.
Black jacket.

I don’t see him at breakfast even if I find myself looking at every dyed-looking red head, clearly failing, wondering at my sudden interest in red heads. I find myself listening to music so loud, that I practically burn my toast. I refill the toaster with two plain slices, hoping and paying my attention to the new toast, even lowering my music.

I take one out, then fingers brush against my palm. The fingers back away from my hand, but take the slice anyway, as I shrug. I look up to see teal eyes and my toast between his lips, one hand holding the toast as the other is in the pocket. One teal winks and he walks off, leaving me in a light and rather dumb trance.

I turn on the music louder.

-

I mute out Leslie for the rest of the lesson and the day as we sit nearly elbowing each other in the classroom. I act cold. I talk to Jonny who complains at today’s juice choice. I ask him to talk with Leslie, he does, but Leslie doesn’t answer. He’s not as bright to answer Jonny. Does he even like Radiohead?

“Hey, Roberta, Jonny.”

I flinch and yank my headphones, as the escape my ears leaving a numb pain as they pulse. I nearly stand up as I look around to find out where I had heard that voice. Nowhere. I don’t see the red head. Leslie asks if I am ok. I nod and find myself trying to sink into the conversation, still hearing the red head’s voice whispering against my ear, his lips so close that I practically feel them. But there’s no one there and after a while I stick a headphone.

He sighs, runs a hand through my hair, shrugs and leaves. Then he returns, rocks on his heels and apologizes silently.

Maybe it’s in my head.

Then he leaves.

-

Then the part comes where the main character struggles. He either smokes roughly, throwing the cig aside looking all epic or decides that heroin is the better choice and gives some through his vein intoxicating his soul. He’d get her into drugs.

Only there’s one problem.

‘Sides the fact that I won’t do drugs.

But then it’s not like I’m struggling.

There’s Leslie.

There’s Graham, who is Leslie, but taller, apparently and worships Jonny.

There’s Jonny.

There’s-

There’s-

There’s the –

Does it even matter?

Because it does.

It rips the soul in a natural way, but just then when I see him, leaving a tingling feeling until it fades away or when he appears in my mind, the red flashing brighter than ever, the teal eyes locking my gaze in a firm grip.

I try to convince myself but nothing, knowing that today, no Jonny, Leslie or Graham is stroking the back of my neck, pulling my tuque, pressing a goodnight kiss, there shall be a change, just for one night.

I pull the covers, stirring as I try to get out, but I let my mind intertwine with what I feel, knowing that it’s a one night, nothing more. Like that calm second in New Year’s Eve where you blindly believe that everything will be ok, that Jonny will either jump out of the cake or from a gift box, nothing else. But I know that it won’t happen.

Then I turn my head to the left, consuming the fact that he may be there.

I open the box.

Nothing.

What had I found in him?

Was it the possibility to imagine him like I wanted?

Was it the fact that he didn’t give a name, letting my mind wonder?

Was it the whole fact that I knew nothing and my mind couldn’t draw anything giving out an urge to stand up in my pajamas, run around the school corridors in search of a single glimpse. This wasn’t what I wanted. This wasn’t in the book.

Is it a sin to feel for once and forget? Just one like a faint memory, nothing to regret, like a small dream, a brief encounter a small date, not knowing nothing, forgetting everything told, yet remembering every word. Was it a sin to forget?

Why must it always be surrounded in broken vases, rivers of tears, ‘he is not worthy’ speeches and blank excuses? Why must there always be that search for that one knowing that reality will end like that? More and more shards surrounding?

Why must it be hidden?

I wanted to show my emotions, not pile them inside, biting my lips, whenever I’d see and desire, but actually do it. Screw it if the chosen can’t deal with it. Then he’s not the chosen one.

Maybe I’d be ok; knowing that the guy throws away it pompously, but deep inside loves me. I’d be ok with that.

I won’t.

I won’t kiss Leslie.

I won’t handle myself if I actually do meet Jonathan and do whatever my heart desires.

I wouldn’t even handle planting a small kiss on the red head’s cheek or trace my fingers up to his cheekbone from the lip corner, because I had chosen another.

But I do that, just once, when he sits there. I do it, ignoring how real it may feel, knowing that it’s all in my head.

-

Sorry for the Exit delay, I've been quite busy and will be, but now there will be no delays. Sorry about that.

Chapter 9