Here’s my latest entry for @sterek-bingo! I’ve never tried writing a soulmate AU before, so this was a ton of fun. Enjoy!
This story was written for the Soulmates square on my BINGO card. (AO3 link here).
Yeah, Pass The Salt, Stiles
Stiles has always maintained that
if Scott weren’t quite so slow on the uptake, they could totally be soulmates.
When they were kids, this thought
depressed him; now, he has to admit, he’s more relieved than anything else. He
loves Scotty to pieces, but jeez, does Allison have to put up with a lot.
Besides, although platonic soulmates do exist, very occasionally, Stiles is a
romantic at heart, and he definitely, definitely
doesn’t see Scott that way.
It happened when they were four
years old, and they met at the playgroup both their moms sent them to. They’d
been doing that thing kids do when they play alongside each other but not
actually together, and as a consequence they’d spent the entire morning
together without actually talking. That was enough for Stiles to decide that he
wanted Scott as his soulmate.
1) The boy with monotone hands sat next to him in Literature.
2) He was falling in love with the giant dork.
Monotone hands. Bright face, shrouded by a cloud of smoke and boredom. Dark jumpers and grey jeans. I swear, he’s colorless. The colorless boy sitting next to me in Advanced Literature. The boy who would come in every single day with hands covered in swirls of grays and whites and blacks, and sometimes he would just stare at them for the entire period, and smudge the acrylics with his thumb. As if he wanted them to fade away forever.
I think his name is Dan. At least that what the roll calls him. Well, no, they call him Daniel, but he always corrects it to Dan. Just Dan.
I’m interested in him. Not necessarily in a romantic perspective, but maybe in a curious way. I wanted to know why he was so grey. I wanted to know why his lips were always chapped, where he got that scar on his knuckle from.
I’m guessing he takes art. He had that kind of look, like he sees the world differently than everyone else. I notice, sometimes, that he doodles. In this little notebook that he slides into a satchel at the end of the hour as chairs squeak on the floor. They’re wonderful, the drawings, little pieces of life on a thick sheet of watercolor paper. People, birds, plants. Little things with big stories.
It was nearing fall, that kind of weather where it was too humid to wear a sweater but too cold to wear a t-shirt, and leaves crunch underneath your feet wherever you go. The bell had already rung, Mrs Whitaker had already started the lesson, and I was worried. No, I was so much more than worried. I was anxious.
Dan never missed a lesson. Never. He was the kind of person that showed up with a canteen of tea and a pack of tissues and worked through the day sick. I could tell, he had done it a lot this year. Maybe he just does it so he can go to Art.
It had already been thirty minutes into the loud period when Dan shuffled into the room, a steaming coffee in one of his hands, a bright orange pass clutched in the other. The class went quiet as he handed Mrs Whitaker the slip and sat down carefully in his assigned seat next to me. The class went back to the previous state of loud laughter and chattering.
I stared at his hands. No paint. No monotone. I furrowed my eyebrows, shortly after thinking a small fuck it, and ripped a piece of paper out of my binder and scribbled a note on it. I let it fall over Dan’s notebook.
He glanced over at me, quirking an eyebrow. I didn’t look back until he read the note and passed it back to me. His handwriting was messy and connected, while mine seemed to be neat. I almost laughed. My handwriting was shit, but I guess it isn’t as slanted as his.
“Why no paint?” I had written, and he responded,
“On my hands? I skipped art. Why do you care?”
“I’ve never seen you without it,”
He ripped up the paper, letting it fall to the far too clean floor.
I didn’t send him any more notes.
The next day, there was an odd tension in the air between Dan and I. I could tell that he was glancing at me from the corner of my eye. I hope he couldn’t tell I was too. His hands were back to monotone, most of it being grey. My heart panged. I had messed up. The one chance that I had to understand, I blew. Great.
I sighed at the notes in my binder. There were only a couple messy sentences and scribbles from testing pens. Shit. I had zoned out, and now Mrs Whitaker was talking about some completely different subject, how titles affect the whole story, or something. Perfect.
I pursed my lips and shut my eyes. Either fail the major test about this at the end of the semester, or ask Dan for his notes. I didn’t have any other friends in Advanced Literature-
Dan slid his notebook slightly over to my desk space. I glanced at him. He wasn’t looking at me, Just staring at the front of the classroom. I let out a tiny sigh of relief and started to copy his notes. I wasn’t going to complain, and Dan had obviously slid them over to show me.
His handwriting did suck, though.
Christmas came and passed, half-term tests were struggled through, and every day in Advanced Literature Dan shared his notes. Even if I didn’t need them, he always made sure to turn his notebook a bit so I could read his slanted, shitty handwriting.
Maybe he thought he was making up for ripping up that note. Maybe he was just being nice. Either way, I was happy for his help. I really was struggling in that class.
But today was different. When he slid his notebook between us, there was a couple words squished in the margin.
Sorry about the note.
I pursed my lips. So that’s what this is about. I reached over and wrote beneath it.
No problem, but you owe me.
He let out a chuckle, before glancing down at my shirt, and whispering, “You like Muse?”
“Who in their right mind wouldn’t like Muse?” I mumbled back, trying not to get caught by the teacher.
I could’ve sworn that Dan had mumbled, “I’m so glad I tore that note.”
A couple months later, and Dan and I had been talking every day, and gotten to know each other so well they could recite exactly what the other’s schedule was, who the teacher is, and if they hate the class on a scale from one to ten. I knew that Dan’s favorite color was grey, but he always said red, people wouldn’t look at him odd. I knew that Dan’s favorite jumper was a big black one that covers his hands and nearly falls off of his shoulders. His lips were always chapped because he has a bad habit of biting them, and he got that scar on his knuckle because he broke a glass table as a kid. I knew that he hated the way that his dad would work late and the way that his mother would plaster on a fake smile when she talked to the neighbors. I knew that Dan’s eyes seemed to have a couple specks of gold peeking out of the color of milk chocolate. I knew that he hated the way that his soft brown hair was curly, so he straightened it, even though I always tell him how nice it looks curled.
And I knew that I was falling for the boy with monotone hands.
We were sitting in his bedroom on a weirdly cold Saturday, him laughing at some stupid joke that I just made, and my eyes were glued to him. He was sitting at his overflowing desk, covered in lead and paint and sticky notes. I couldn’t help but notice the way that he covers his mouth with his hand, the way that he hunches over, shoulders shaking. He grinned at me and stood up.
“Oh, yeah,” He started, flopping next to me on his bed, “Can you model for some art shit tomorrow? I need to paint someone for a huge project, and I think it would be kinda awkward asking someone else,”
“Sure,” I said, ignoring the way that my stomach was in knots at the fact that our shoulders are bumping on the mattress, and that our knees were touching. His bed was far too small for two gangly teenage boys.
I glanced at his hands. There were faint stains of black and grey, and I still didn’t know their reasoning. At first, I thought it was a kind of aesthetic thing, but after knowing Dan for a while, I knew that it was so much more than that.
“Dan?” I asked.
“What?” He replied, picking up my hand, playing with my fingers. Another thing I learned about Dan in these past months is that he liked touching. He liked throwing his legs over me when he sits on the couch sideways, he likes it when our shoulders touch. It’s not like I was going to complain.
But I couldn’t help the way that my heart seemed to break every time I couldn’t kiss him.
“Why are your hands always grey?”
He paused for a second, then continued to play with my hand.
“I don’t know. I just like to paint in black and white, I guess,”
“No, that’s not it. You suck at lying, Howell,” I snorted, turning to him. He glanced at me, before looking at the ceiling.
“I… I don’t know,” He mumbled, “It’s just that everything seems so grey right now. I’m sure it will get better, but… I just don’t know.”
I swear to god, with every word that he said, my heart broke bit by bit until it shattered into a million pieces. What they say is true, about how you can feel the pain in your chest. All I could do was grab Dan and pull him into a hug. He laughed into my chest weakly, and wrapped his arms around me as well, and rambled, “Phil, I’m sure I’m fine. It’s okay.”
But it just wasn’t.
The next day, I showed up at Dan’s front step, shivering as I rang the doorbell. I pulled my arms tighter to myself. It was far too cold to be spring.
“Oh, hello Phil,” Mrs Howell said, opening the door with her usual smile, “Come in. Dan’s upstairs.”
“Thanks.” I mumbled, giving her a weak smile before rushing to Dan’s room. For some reason, she always seemed to be way too strict.
“Hey,” I said, opening the door to Dan’s room, shutting it behind me and plopping down on his bed shortly after kicking my shoes off and throwing my coat over Dan’s head. He wrinkled his nose at me, chuckled, and threw the coat over a shelf.
“I’m just about ready,” Dan responded, “Can you sit in the chair?” He gestured over to his desk, setting up an easel with the sound of metal against metal. I sat in the leather desk chair, swirling around once, to meet a grinning Dan staring right at me.
“What?” I ask, squinting at him, stomach erupting in butterflies.
“Nothing, you absolute nerd,” He chuckles, before grabbing a medium sized canvas and setting it on the easel, sitting down on a tall stool that always sits in the corner of his room.
His room was amazing, a cozy shade of warm grey and covered in little pieces of paper filled with doodles and notes. His bed was always messy and covered in quilts faded with age; There was a small bookshelf that was overflowing onto the ground and covered in cups of tea. Some posters were sitting along the walls, rolled up, forgotten. The ground was a white kind of fluffy carpet that your feet sunk into. A slight sign of youth through little plushies that were thrown on the desk and shelf littered with art supplies.
I pulled my knees to my chest, staring at Dan as he pulled out brushes and acrylics. He was a wildfire. Blaring heat that seemed to sting your eyes, a strange kind of beauty that mystified millions. He was out of control, terrifying even, but utterly gorgeous.
“Alright,” Dan started, pushing his fringe out of his eyes and off of his forehead, (Jesus. He even had a pencil behind his ear.) “Get however you’d like. I’m just going to sketch you out first, and then paint. It’ll take a while,”
“I’m fine here,” I pulled my knees tighter to myself. Dan grinned, and tugged the pencil out behind his ear, and started to sketch. I closed my eyes.
And I could feel myself falling for the boy with monotone hands even farther.
“Do you want to take a break?” Dan whispered into the silence an hour later, “I’m done with sketching.”
I shook my head no, keeping my eyes shut.
“Good,” He said softly, “I didn’t either.”
I could feel his grin from here.
The hazy heat of the late afternoon sunshine was warm on my face, and I could hear the soft brushing of Dan working on his canvas, and the leather was soft and comforting against my back. I sighed, letting out a lazy smile.
“We’ve been doing this for six hours, Phil,”
“I’m fine, are you?”
“I’m… I’m the happiest I’ve been in a while.”
I opened up my eyes, adjusting to the brightness in the room, before looking over at him. He was grinning lazily, hair still pushed back, little smudges of paint on his face. My heart skipped a beat and my stomach twisted into knots. He looked so warm.
“I think I’m done,” Dan whispered, looking at the canvas, and wiping his brush on a little cloth that he had sat on a shelf beside him.
“Can I see?” I say, and stretch out of my position in the chair.
“‘Course,” He replied, standing up, and smiling at me, “Thank you, so much,”
“I loved doing it, Dan.”
I walk over to the easel, and all I could do was grin. So, so wide that my mouth hurt and my eyes crinkled.
Dan had painted me so well it was like a photograph, in warm sunlight on a cracked leather chair, knees pulled up to my chest, eyes closed. I was smiling like I knew a secret, and my hair was messy. My jumper was too big for my body, slightly falling off my shoulders. He even painted the mismatching patterns on my socks.
And I was full of color.
My jumper was green and my eyelids and cheeks were a soft pink. Golden sunlight hit my face. My socks were purple and red and my jeans were blue. I seemed to have an aura of color, and all around me was grey, and black, and white.
But I was so, so bright.
I turned to Dan, tears coming to the rim of my eyes. He was looking at me with a nervous-giddy expression, eyes crinkled in a half-smile.
“I swear to god, everything is so bright with you around,” Dan whispered, grin growing.
“I’m so glad you ripped up that note,” I replied, pulling him by his collar, pulling his lips to mine.
“Com’on, Lester, move your ass!” Dan laughed at me, pulling my arm, “I have something to show you,”
“Five years, Dan, and you’re still a pain,” I smirked, and he quickly replied,
“You love me. Keep your eyes closed. It’s a surprise.”
I let out a huff, grinning, as he continued to tug my arm around a corner, and through a couple doorways, from what I could tell, until we came to a stop, in a more crowded room.
My eyes blinked open, and my hands immediately went to my mouth, eyes already watering.
In a large plaque at the top of a clean, white wall, was the words Daniel James Howell imprinted in large letters, and below it, was what must have been fifty paintings. And in the center, was the one that he had painted exactly five years ago.
All around that one portrait was paintings full of color. Lush green forests and loud cities and landscapes and rooms, and around the edge of the wall were a couple black and white paintings of people and buildings. All of them so well done, it was almost like a photograph. It was like I was giving the world color.
At the bottom of the wall, written in Dan’s shitty handwriting,
I swear to god, everything is so bright with you around.
Philip Michael Lester, will you marry me?
I spin around in the crowded room full of murmurs, but all I could see was the boy with vivid, colorful hands, eyes crinkling at the corners, down on one knee, holding a little velvet box with a golden band inside. His hands were covered in different colors of paint, greens, blues, purples, pinks, reds, yellows.
I nod, words getting stuck in my throat, before escaping, in a quiet,
“Of course, you dork,”
And I sprint right into his arms, Dan giving a surprised noise, before pulling me into a kiss.
He had spent the past thirty minutes watching him in disgust as the boy chewed on the end of a pencil that had definitely seen its better days. Grey eyes narrowed, he’s hoping that the little unhygienic shit sitting beside him will snap out of his barbaric daze. Like clockwork, the boy only lasts a few seconds underneath the stare before he is shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
The boy clears his throat, but he is insane if he thinks Levi will remove his gaze until that pencil is freed from its saliva choke hold. Eventually, the kid gets the point, releasing the pencil from between his teeth. Levi sneers as he takes in the object rolling mindlessly on the desktop, riddled with numerous bite marks and a broken eraser.
He’s about to resume his suffering through this two hour detention, albeit a little more pleased with his surroundings, when he starts to feel a wide gaze begin to settle upon him. Slowly removing his stare from the dilapidated pencil, Levi’s eyes gradually lift to make contact with a pair of big, bright jades.
The kid is looking at him expectantly, like he is anticipating an answer for being silently taught some table manners. And, Levi is many things, but unfortunately for this kid, apologetic is not one of them. He raises an eyebrow, wordlessly daring the boy to challenge him any further. The furrow that appears on the kid’s face should be reason enough for him to abandon this misguided plight of self-importance, but Levi’s also not a coward, so he continues to hold the boy’s angry stare until the kid’s face is staining itself a permanent red.
Gritting his teeth, the boy breaks Levi’s stare. And, Levi is positive that it’s over, that the kid has accepted defeat underneath his unyielding stare. But, the wad of paper that politely whacks him upside the head tells him that the war has only just begun. He blames his curiosity for opening up the messy ball of paper, even though his pride is more than likely to blame. The writing inside is complete chicken scratch, and Levi spends a good five minutes just trying to decipher it. But, when he does… oh, when he does.
‘whats your problem asshole???????’
And, Levi doesn’t have a problem. Didn’t have a problem. But, if he had to pinpoint a certain annoyance, it would be that the kid next to him has acted like he was raised in a barn ever since he marched into detention thirty minutes ago.
Okay, so maybe he does have a problem.
Against all his better judgment, Levi rips out a piece of notebook paper from his binder and starts scribbling. He finishes the message in record time, but at least his writing is legible. Glancing up to make sure that good ol’ Shadis is still snoozing in his office chair, Levi smashes the sheet atop the kid’s desk with an open palm.
It doesn’t even take thirty seconds before he hears the angry sound of a pencil scratching a message out. A pencil Levi is starting to feel extremely sorry for, given the kid is gripping the thing like the object’s offended him… which, considering this brat’s personality, isn’t exactly that unrealistic. Soon, a tanned hand is sliding another sheet of paper in his direction.
'I WASNT RAISED IN A BARN!!!!! AND AT LEAST I DONT LOOK LIKE A MEMBER OF THE ADDAMS FAMILY’
Levi has to remind himself that if he maims this kid with a lead pencil then he will undoubtedly earn himself another week of detention. Turning to the little shit, he does the next best thing, ripping the paper into three sections before throwing them into the kid’s face.
“Game’s over, asshole… and The Addams Family is a good movie.” Levi whisper comes out harsh and testy, not really looking for a reply. But, of course, the little shit obliges him.
“I never said it wasn’t a good movie. I just said you look like-”
“I know what you said.” Levi interrupts the kid, because hearing the insult reiterated isn’t necessarily at the top of his to-do list. “And, I said, game over… now shut the fuck up and let me enjoy my detention in peace.” The brat’s mouth closes instantly at his reply, and Levi can’t help but think that this must be a rare occurrence.
It’s been five minutes, and Levi starts to think that the kid took his demand to heart. But, the mind is a tricky little bastard that likes to let you make dumb assumptions.
“What are you in for?” Levi almost laughs. Almost. Because, this is detention, not state prison. And, furthermore, he really doesn’t want to share anymore words with the person next to him than is strictly necessary… which would be none. But, as much as Levi hates to admit it, the kid with the bulging eyes has perked his interest.
“I killed a man in the janitor’s closet.” The kid gives him a look of disbelief, which quickly turns to one of fear as he continues to gaze into Levi’s impassive stare. The sound of a desk scooting in the opposite direction makes Levi question whether or not he should take it back, but the horrified look plastered across the kid’s face is just too priceless. A wicked smirk pulling at the corners of his lips, he continues, “Did him in with a mop bucket.” The kid is trying desperately not to make eye contact, but Levi doesn’t miss the widening of his pupils or the movement of his Adam’s apple as he gulps.
Levi could probably keep this up for the remaining hour and thirty minutes, but the chuckle spilling from the back of his throat gives him away. Like clockwork, the kid whips around in his chair, eyebrow twitching.
“That wasn’t funny, asshole!” Levi’s chuckle turns into a full-blown laugh as the boy’s face begins to redden once more. “I thought I was sitting next to a serial killer!”
Levi is about to comment on the kid’s obliviousness when a gruff voice interrupts his thoughts, “Ackeman. Jaeger. Do we have a problem?” They both mutter a quiet ‘no sir’ as they sink back into their seats. As soon as Shadis’s snores begin to refill the sound waves, another wadded piece of paper hits Levi.
'so this probably sounds weird but would you like to tell me more about your homicidal tendencies after we get out of here… maybe at sina’s??? circle yes or no’
Levi’s face flushes reading the note, because he certainly wasn’t expecting to be propositioned during detention hall, but he supposes there could be worse fates. Of course, the kid next to him is a little shit, and minutes prior, he was considering murdering the brat via the writing object next to his hand. But, to be completely honest, a burger from Sina’s does sound pretty appetizing; and maybe once he gets past the kid’s complete disregard for etiquette, he won’t make bad company… maybe. Grabbing his lead pencil, he delicately marks on the paper. Then, he not so delicately shoots the paper wad back at the boy’s head.
Opening the note, the kid gives it a once over before turning an even darker red. Turning to Levi, he opens his mouth, an unsightly quiver now present in the once confident voice. “I don’t do… that on a first date either, asshole… Umm, but that is a yes, right?”
Rolling his eyes, Levi quips back, “It won’t be if you don’t stop talking.”
“Ackerman! Jaeger!” Both sighing deeply, the pair slinks deep down into their seats as they prepare to wait out the remaining hour and a half. And, as Levi catches the kid trying to sneak not so subtle glances at him, he realizes that maybe spending time with farm animals isn’t that dreadful.
Carmilla stood in the doorway, letting Laura walk past her. She bit her lip slightly, watching Laura look around the place. She knew she didn’t have the best place–everything she owned was acquired either through garage sales or pawn shops–and normally she didn’t let herself be embarrassed by it. But this was different. Laura was different.
She didn’t say anything for a moment and Carmilla swallowed quietly. Finally, Laura nodded, almost to herself.
“It has character,” Laura said, walking further down the hallway. Carmilla frowned a litle. ‘Character.’
“That sounds like something you say when you want to spare someone’s feelings,” Carmilla pointed out, following her, “I know it isn’t the nicest place–”
“It’s your place,” Laura answered. She stopped, standing in the middle of the linoleum tile floor of the kitchen, smiling at her. “That makes it a nice place.”
Carmilla put her hands in the pockets of her jeans, smiling softly. “Thanks, Cupcake.”
“Of course. And hey,” Laura looked around the kitchen, “it’s cool to see where you do all your…mad science.”
There were bowls scattered across the kitchen counters. A binder open with notes scribbled across the margins with additions and tweaks to her recipes. Laura sniffed the air, taking in the smell of sugar and flour.
“Yeah, it’s a good…it’s calming.”
“Calming you from what?”
Carmilla ran a hand through her hair, looking at the floor. Laura grinned. “What?”
“You’ve never been in my house before,” Carmilla mumbled.
“I’ve been here–”
“Yeah, in my yard but now you’re in my house. That’s…different.”
Carmilla was sure she was turning red. This was by far the most embarrassing thing she’d ever told anyone. She was supposed to be a badass. She was supposed to be cool and aloof.
She was nervous because she’d never had a girl in her house before.
Carmilla looked up. Laura was closer now, taking Carmilla’s hand, lifting them up to look at their entwined fingers.
“I mean I never thought I’d have an ‘epic summer fling’ before, you know? But there’s no reason to feel weird or, like, nervous about it,” Laura kissed the back of Carmilla’s hand, “there’s no pressure on us. I guess that’s the…upside to all of this. So please try not to be too self conscious?”
Carmilla remembered their date. How it was a disaster until she finally let herself stop overthinking and planning every moment. Maybe she should try it again.
She gently pulled Laura in. Their lips brushed against each other for a brief moment and Laura’s eyes fluttered shut.
Bobbing around on tumblr today sharing hearts and likes while I back up a gazillion images across several portable hard drives…
I kind of miss the days when I could cut up a roll of film/slides, put the strips into a binder page, scribble a couple of notes on the top and quickly file it away in a folder in a filing cabinet… and yes the filing cabinets are still there, still full of images ~ unlike some of my early digital back ups onto CD’s and DVD’s that just “became” unreadable…
I sigh looking at the large building that had multiple teens rushing in and out, mingling. First days suck, I thought to myself as I stepped out of my car and swung my bag on my shoulder. As I walked closer to the building, I removed my sunglasses and scanned the many faces that were watching me.
“What? Never seen a girl before?” I grumble to myself as my own bag hit my leg with every step I took. “Stupid bag.” I glare at it as I enter the building. Unfortunately, I had no clue where the office was so I had to ask someone for help. The kids here weren’t exactly welcoming, they walked past me as if I hadn’t said a word.
“Hey?” I look over a see a boy around age, wearing a flannel, “Need some help?”
“Yea, thanks. I can’t find the office.” I blush, looking down at my feet.
“Well, um, follow me.” He stammers, smiling. I rush to follow him, shoving past multiple people(who give me dirty looks for it). “Here we are,” He gives me a warm smile. “Good luck.” Then, he’s gone. Sighing, I open the door and retrieve my papers.
It takes me awhile til I find my locker, but when I do I easily get it open. Textbooks are already stacked together, so I glance at my class schedule and grab the textbook for my first and second class, just in case I get lost on the way.
Taking a deep breath I push open the door, silently praying that I actually got the room right(third times a charm, right?). I look up from the door handle and meet the eyes of my(possible) classmates.
“Ah, you must be the new student.” I shoot my head over to my teacher. “Come on.” She motions me over, and I shut the door behind me before walking towards her desk. “Everyone this is Raven Parrish.” The boy from earlier, the one with the flannel, is here and the mention of my name had caught his attention. Along with a redheaded girl in the front row, they share a look before staring at me.
“Hey,” I give a small wave.
“Take a seat.” She waves her hand around and I quickly head to the back of the room. I open my binder and quickly scribble down the many equations on the board, however my head began hurt. Dropping my pencil, I rub my temples for a few seconds until the pain lightens.
“Home!” I call into the house.
“How was it?” My brother, Jordan, asks entering the room.
“Like every other first day of school, boring.” He chuckles, pulling me into his chest. “Why are you still in your uniform?” I ask, muffled by his chest.
“I’ve got another late shift tonight, so I won’t be back until later.” I nod softly, squeezing his waist. “I gotta go, Raven. I love you.” He kisses the top of my head.
“I love you too.” I kiss his cheek and he’s out the door. With a sigh, I head to my room and change into some basketball shorts, sports bra, a crop top, and my running shoes.
As I walk out the door, tie my hair up and shove my wireless Dr. Dre powerbeats2 in my ears, turning them on. I head down the steps, going to my workout playlist and pressing shuffle.
I start my running with a slow jog before it turns into a full on sprint. I jump over trash cans and stray cats until I reach the woods and a smile takes over my face. I jump over fallen branches and lift myself up onto the trees, doing some chin ups, and the drop back down and take off running.
I see a branch that was too high for me to just simply jump over, so I grab onto it with my right arm and swing my body right over it and then do again with my left arm.
Turning around, I run back home as it was getting dark. I rushed into the bathroom that I shared with Jordan and took a nice long soothing shower. Then, I spent the next hour doing homework before I put my phone and powerbeats2 to charge.
As I laid in my dark bedroom I couldn’t help, but feel as if I were being watched. Doesn’t everyone feel that way?
“Wake up,” Jordan shakes me awake. “You gotta get ready for school.” I nod and he leaves to his own room. With a sigh, I get dressed, do the regular makeup, and spray some perfume.
Once I get down stairs I make Jordan and myself some breakfast: which we eat in silence.
I make my way to the lunchroom and sit alone, not having any friends does that to a person. My head begins to kill me, and I grip both sides of it with my hands.
“Hey, are okay?” Someone asks me, but they sound distant. Flashes appear in my mind, and I stick my head into the food on my tray. My head begins to scribble all over the table, creating an image.