Old Friends

The last time I saw Grace Kelly was during high school graduation.

I remember being sick to my stomach that day. I had spent all senior year trying to avoid any contact with her, and had done quite well, really. If I saw her walking towards where I was, I would go the other way. If she had somehow gotten placed in the same class as I did (which did happen twice), I would switch classes. I made sure that I was to not appear in her life any longer; as if I had never existed. As if I had never been her best friend for nine years.

It was hard, but I managed — well, all until the day of graduation. The only day that the entire senior class got together in the same place. Which meant I was bound to run into her.

And I did.

She had been placed a few chairs ahead of me — something I had dreaded would happen — as our last names both started with k’s. I sat stiffly in my chair, I remember, pretending not to notice her presence; but really, it was the only thing I could think about. Her.

She had cropped her once lengthy ash brown hair short, and wore pale pink lipstick. Under her gown, you could see a white sundress with a laced collar. I remember thinking she looked great with a pang of regret. Her short hair highlighted her high cheekbones and makeup brought out her blue eyes. She was stunning in the simplest way.

I was envious.

Every so often, she would glance over at me, and I would look away. And when I tried to nonchalantly look over at her, she, too, turned away. Looking back at it now, we were both guilty of it. So why couldn’t we have just talked?

Because I was afraid.

Afraid. I’m always afraid, aren’t I? It makes me wonder if she was, too.

When an hour passed, and less than half the people were given their diplomas, we were called up. She was the first in our row, and her hair had bobbed as she walked to the top of the stage. “Grace Kelly,” our principal had announced. There was applause from the former students and families. I remember seeing her younger brother, Iain, in the crowd cheering along with the rest of her family.

She walked to receive her diploma with full confidence. Mr. Zimmer shook her hand proudly with a smile on his face. The same smile he had been holding since the beginning of the graduation. I wondered if his face was tired yet. “Congratulations,” I saw him saw to her and she gave him a closed smile and a small dip of her head. And then she looked back at me, and our eyes met.

Her smile faltered.

She looked the other way and left the stage. I felt my stomach drop. “Ellen Kendall,” the principle called. I stepped on the stage and listened to the applause of the tired crowd. Mr. Zimmer handed me the diploma and shook my hand. I had forced a smile, but I think it came out as more of a grimace. He then lead me aside with a mirrored smile and called for the next senior.
He didn’t say congratulations.

Ice

Her knee was red with irritation and blotches of blood was starting to form on it. She sucked in her breath as she grabbed a handful of snow and pressed it to her skin. The icy cold contact sent a series of shivers down her spin, and it made her clench her jaw, but it eased the terrible pain that had been throbbing throughout her leg — so she continued.

Dani sighed. She removed the snow from her knee. It was pink with her blood. Great.

She pulled down the leg of her jeans and stood up, brushing the snow off herself. She slowly walked through the snow, careful not to trip while still wearing her ice skates. She knew she should stop and return home, wrap a bandage around her knee and call it a day.

But that was no fun.

The frozen pond was calling her; shouting her name. It wanted her to come back. Skate more, the blue-tinge ice pleaded. More. So she did. She listened.

She hobbled to the edge of the snow and the beginning of ice and resume her ice skating. And God, did it feel great. She no longer was thinking of her bloody knee and the pain she was in — she was thinking of the ice and only the ice. That, after all, was the only thing that mattered to her at this moment. Or any moment, really.

Ice. The ice in which she glided across; the ice that was always there for her, even when everyone else was not.

Until the spring came, of course.

Then it became a melted pond, with ducks bobbing in the water and floating flower petals. Spring was alright. It was not bad; but it also was not winter.

Dani skidded around the frozen pond, picking up momentum. She added pressure to the back of her heels and then jumped in a spin. A salchow; a simple but graceful jump, one often seen done in the Olympics as perhaps a double or triple. Right now, however, she could only make one spin. And even that she could not do in today’s condition.

She landed on her feet, a painful stab in her leg spreading through her body. Dani let out a gasp, then to only lose her balance and tumble to the ground. The ice was cold on her bottom but she ignored it. She cradled the leg in her arms with a small sob. Tears stung at her eyes.

“Goddamn it,” she muttered under her breath.

It was then that she heard the crunching of snow nearing her, and quickly blinked away the tears. She will not be seen crying. Not like this.

“Dani,” a familiar voice called. Her brother, Chris. He approached the side of the pond, not daring to go onto the ice. Unlike her, he did not understand the beauty of ice. He thought of it as a nuisance that comes once a year and leaves them to freeze half-to-death. “Dinner’s ready.”

She pressed her chin on her knees. “I’m not hungry.”

“Oh, come on,” he exasperated. “Dani. Get up and eat. You’ve been out here all day, you must be hungry. You have to be!”

“Well I’m not.” Her voice was flat. She stared down at her ice skates. The blade on her right foot was slowly started to chip at the edge of her heel. She felt a pang of guilt for being so rough on her shoes. Her father had bought them for her as a birthday present — one of the very last gifts he had given her — and here she was destroying them. “Tell Mom I’ll eat later. Say I’m on a diet or something.”

“But you’re not,” he said. Chris pushed his hands into the pockets of his snow jacket. It was navy, and made his light blue eyes seem even brighter. She had always admired his eyes, as hers were a muddy brown and just as attractive as dirt was. “I saw you smuggling that chocolate I had brought from work yesterday.”

She shrugged. “It was good chocolate.”

“I’m not going to lie to Mom, Dani.” He sighed softly. “Please come home.”

She shuffled to her feet, her right leg aching. “Fine,” she groaned. “But it’s only because you asked nicely.”

He grinned at her. “Thanks, kid.”

He handed her snow boots as she reached the edge of the pond. “I’m not really a kid anymore,” she replied as she changed into her boots.

“No, you’re not,” he said. “But you always will be for me.”

She felt like crying.

 

…

 

“What is that?” Her mom demanded as Dani removed her boots at the door. She held a spatula in her right hand, and was still wearing her flowered yellow apron. Her blond hair was pulled back messily.

“It’s just a scrap,” replied Dani. “I fell skating.”

“I don’t want you ice skating anymore.” The distaste was obvious in the older woman’s face.

“What?” Dani’s voice raised.

“You heard me,” said her mother. “No more skating. All you do is get yourself hurt. It would do you some good to give your body a break. Find a new hobby. Join a club. You could use another friend or two — are you still even friends with those two girls? — Julie.”

“It’s Julia,” Dani said bitterly. “And yes, she’s still my friend. A much better friend than any I would find in some stupid club.”

“Dani.” Her tone was that of a cat’s hiss.

“What? It’s true! Julia has always been there for me, even when you weren’t,” Dani exclaimed. “Where were you when Dad died? Huh?” Hurt spread across her mother’s face. She said nothing, her lips a tightly-pressed line. “You were out drinking! While me and Chris were suffering, you were out drinking away your sorrows. You abandoned us—!”

A hand grasped Dani’s shoulder. “Dani, stop.” Chris’ voice was low. She closed her mouth. “You’re being unfair,” he told her. He glanced up at their mother. “Both of you.”

Their mom sighed. “You’re right, Chris. Thank you.” She shook her head and turned away. Dani did the same;

“Just make sure to spray some disinfectant on it, Dani. I don’t want to see it get infected.”

It’s not going to get infected, thought Dani, but did not dare to say. Instead, she said the safest word she could. “Okay.”

Her mom turned away and went back to tending the meat at the stove.
“Dinner’s ready.”

My Friend, Ben

The room was small, and white. A white exam table laid against the left wall, and there was a counter top with a sink opposite from it. The walls were plastered with pictures of organs and kids with fake smiles. The room reeked of antibiotic soap and bleach. Katherine wrinkled her nose. She did not like any of it.

“Come on,” said her mother, as she pulled her by the hand. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s only a check-up.”

“No shots?” Katherine asked skeptically. The last time they had visited the Doctor Andrew’s office, there was shots. And they hurt a lot. She did not want to experience that ever again.

“No shots.” Her mother led her to the exam table and helped her hop onto it. She then found a rolling chair in the corner and slide to next to Katherine. They sat in silence for a few moments before her mother spoke again. “Now if you’re a good girl, I might even decide to get you some ice cream on the way back.”

Katherine’s ears perked at this idea. “The ones with bubblegum in them?”

“Whatever you want,” the woman smiled. Katherine beamed in response.

There a knock at the door, and Katherine’s smile faltered. Doctor Andrew came in, a smile on his face. It was fake, she thought. Just like the children’s on the posters. He was only doing it to make her like him. She did not. He was the one who hurt her with shots.

“Look at you,” he exclaimed at Katherine. She pressed her back to the wall. “You just won’t stop growing, will you? The next time I’ll see you, you’ll be as big as a giant!” Katherine frowned. She did not want to be as tall as a giant. How would she fit into her house?

“How old is she now?” Andrew asked her mother.

“Katherine,” she said, looking to her daughter. “How old are you? Show us your fingers.”

Katherine held up her left hand, and then three fingers from her right. “Eight,” she told him.

He grinned at her. “Almost an adult.” He went flipping through the papers he had on his clipboard, then turning his attention back to her mother. “So. How can I help you, Laura? Katherine?”

“Katherine has a…” Her mother swallowed. “Well, she’s made something of a new ‘friend’.” The doctor gave her an odd look, and she glanced at Katherine. “Sweetie, why don’t you tell him about your friend.”

“His name is Ben, Mom,” Katherine corrected.

“Alright, tell us about Ben.” Her mother sighed. She suddenly looked very tired. Katherine thought she should get an ice cream later, too. To make her feel better.

“Well, he’s super nice!” Katherine exclaimed after a moment’s pause. “We always play together. He likes to go on our swing, and I push him. It’s lots of fun.” A smile spread across her face. “Ben’s my best friend.”

The doctor scribbled on his clipboard. He then looked up at Katherine, his eyes shadowed from his spectacles. He gave her another smile, but it was forced. “What does Ben look like, Katherine?”

“He’s really big,” she answered thoughtfully. “And black. And he has a huge smile, with big white teeth.”

“Can you draw him for me?”

She nodded. Katherine loved drawing! Doctor Andrew pulled out a white piece of paper and handed it to her, along with a ballpoint pen.

She started to sketch out Ben. She could feel the doctor’s gaze studying her, and her mother’s worried expression. She pressed hard on the pen to make thick black lines outline his body, and then she went to draw his face…

Katherine finished with a giggle. “I made his face funny,” she handed Doctor Andrew the paper. “But that’s what he looks like, mostly.”

She waited for the doctor’s proud face, but it did not come like it did when she should her parents the drawings she made. He looked almost…serious.

A smile pulled at his face as he looked up at Katherine. “It’s very good,” he told her. He was lying. He motioned to her mother. “Laura, can I talk to you for a moment. Outside.”

“Sure.” She said. She looked back at Katherine. “Be a good girl. Doctor Andrew and I will be right back.”

Katherine nodded.

The two adults left the room, the door closing gently behind them. Katherine folded her hands on her lap and waited.

“Ben?” She whispered.

…

“I’m not a psychiatrist, Laura,” said Doctor Andrew coldly. They were standing outside the door; him with his hands shoved into his white coat, and hers fiddling with the bracelet clasped around her right wrist. “I’m a pediatrician. I studied to treat colds, not imaginary friends.”

“I know.” Laura shook her head. “But I have no one else to ask. I thought you could at least give me an input, Andrew. I don’t want to send her to a psychiatrist if I don’t need to, this hospital scares her bad enough already. Just think what a psychiatric hospital would do to her.”

He frowned at her. “It’s only an imaginary friend. What’s the problem? All kids have one — hell, even I had one named Dusty when I was younger.”

“She’s eight,” argued Laura. “That’s far too old to have an imaginary friend, more or less, invent one at this age. She should be out playing with children her age, not with an imaginary friend that looks like” —she tore the paper out of Doctor Andrew’s hand and held it up— “This! Whatever this terrifying creature is. No normal kid draws things like this.”

He stared at the picture. It was a black blob with long legs and arms. Two wide eyes were in the middle, with a gigantic mouth smiling under them, revealing a set of sharp teeth. It looked like something he would see in a godforsaken horror film.

“So she’s a creative kid,” he said slowly. The doctor leaned his back against the door. “Laura, I’ve seen plenty of children drawings in the past. Trust me when I say they’re all ‘horrifying’. That’s how they express themselves at this age — by using their imagination.”

Laura sighed loudly.

“Listen.” He continued on, ignoring her flustered expression. He put a hand on her shoulder. He had not realize how thin the woman was until that moment. Her bones felt like they could snap under his grasp. He regretfully removed his hand.

“Katherine’s a bright kid. It’s only natural she’s got an imaginary friend. Give it a few months, maybe a year, and then this — Ben, was it? — this Ben will be gone. Alright?” Laura did not answer. “Like I said, I’m no psychiatrist, so I can only go off from my experiences. But, Katherine? She’s fine. She’s just being a kid. Let her.”

“I’m just worried,” Laura said in a quiet voice. Her eyes were glossy. “This all started after Michael’s death. What if she made this imaginary friend to replace him?”

Doctor Andrew just wanted the conversation to end. “Well, if that’s the case, what’s the problem? We all grieve differently. It’s perfectly healthy.” Laura bit down on her lower lip. The doctor placed a hand on the mid of her back. She tensed. “Come on,” he said. “We’ve kept Katherine waiting.”

She said nothing in response and followed him back into the room.

They found Katherine in the same spot, swinging her legs back-and-forth on the exam table, humming a tuneless song. She looked oddly content for being alone as long a she was. Doctor Andrew found this strange, but said nothing of this to Laura. There was no use in worrying the mother anymore than she already was.

“Katherine,” said Laura as followed him into the room. “Were you a good girl for me?”

“The bestest!” She answered proudly. Her grin was spread from ear-to-ear. “Me and Ben decided to play a game while we waited. It was lots of fun.”

“Ben’s here?” Laura pressed her lips together. Doctor Andrew’s eyes flickered around the room automatically. Of course, he was to see nothing — but something about that question made him uneasy.
Katherine nodded enthusiastically. “Can’t you see him, Mom? He’s right next to you.”

---

Author note: I just realized it’s been an year since I’ve started this blog. Wow.

This blog was originally created as a senior school project, and continued to use it — now even as a freshmen in college. Amazing how times flies.

Hey

Alexis was placing the cooled cinnamon rolls into the display when she heard the ring of the door chimes. She took a quick glance towards the door, where she found a familiar head of dark brown messy hair. She immediately looked away, before he could catch her stare. Shit, she thought. Shit!

He walked towards the counter. With each step, her heart pounded faster and faster. Of course, there was no line at the moment — no extra time she could use to avoid him. She felt sick to the stomach. Stop, she tried to tell herself. It’s just…him. Be normal. Pretend it’s nothing — nothing. He doesn’t matter to you…anymore.

“Hey,” he said.

She pretended to be deep in focus, while placing down the remaining cinnamon rolls. She slowly looked up. “Hey.” She swallowed, her mouth drier than Death Valley. “How can I help you.” It was supposed to be a question, but it came out more like a command.

He smiled at her, white teeth and all. Inside, she screamed, no, don’t smile at me. “I’ll take one of those cinnamon rolls,” he replied. She place the tray with the remaining cinnamon rolls aside, and reach for one in the dessert display. “No,” he said, and she stopped. He pointed to her right — where the tray was. “One from the tray, a fresh one.”

Trying to make it hard for me, huh? She thought. He grinned back at her, as if reading her mind telepathically. She grabbed a cinnamon roll from the tray and place it on a plate. “Anything else?” She asked.

Please say no, she begged in her mind.

“Yes,” he said. “You.” He said with with his dark eyes locked on to hers, and a smirk on his lips. He looked so irresistibly attractive, and she hated herself for thinking so.

“You lost that opportunity the moment you led me on and never returned.” Her voice was filled with bitterness.

His face fell flat. “I had to take care of a few things.”

“Yeah, well, while you did that, I lost interest,” she pushed the plate to him, typing the amount into the register. “Go find another girl to toy around with, and leave me alone, will you.” She sighed. “A dollar-fifty.”

He handed her a five-dollar bill. “I don’t want another girl, I want you.”

Alexis entered it into the register and it clicked open. She started to count the change. “Maybe, you should’ve got your priorities straight then. Because it sure didn’t seem like that to me. It sounds to me like I was the second option to the other things you needed to ‘take care of’.”

“You’re hardly being fair, Alex,” he frowned.

She handed him the change, a hard look on her eyes. “I’m only protecting myself from getting hurt. I’ve dealt you guys like you before, Zach, and I don’t want to ever have to again. I’m sorry it has to be like this. You almost seemed like a nice guy.”

“Alex.” Hurt crossed his face. She ignored him, and closed the register. “Alex. Alexis. Alex.” She continued to avoid his eyes. “Listen to me for a second here. Let me explain.”

She held up a hand. “No,” she said. “‘Let me explain’ is a phrase only liars use. I don’t want to hear it. Leave me alone, I have work to do.”

“Okay, I’ll rephrase it then,” he proclaimed. “Alex, my sister died and I couldn’t leave my own room for two weeks because my manic-depressive symptoms relapse. I’m sorry you weren’t top priority, but I was seriously contemplating killing myself, and I think my health was more important at the time.” He exhaled loudly. “Okay? Is that okay? Better?”

“I—” She was lost for words. Suddenly, she felt like a complete bitch. “Your sister died? I — God, I’m sorry. I didn’t…I didn’t know. I—”

“Forget it,” he shook his head. “You didn’t know.” He bite his lower lip. “You know. You know, the only reason I recovered so quickly was because of you. That’s why I came here. I had so many thoughts of taking my father’s straight razor and slitting my wrists, or throwing myself out a window — but then my mind kept coming to you — that girl I met in a bakery, who pretty eyes and a terrible sense of humor. The girl who made me spat out my coffee because I was laughing too hard. I thought, if you had accepted me, maybe everyone else can. Maybe I can start to accept myself, too. You know?”

Alexis hesitated. She had known none of this, and now here he was, telling her his innermost thoughts. His sister died. He wanted to kill himself. He was saying she was the reason he kept living. Her.

She had not know he had a disorder, she had thought he was normal. Just a guy. A guy with a nice smile, and was too lazy to fix his own hair upon waking up. He carried so much confidence, you would not think twice whether he had any insecurities or not. But he did. Similar to any other human — her — he did.

“I don’t,” she swallowed. Her voice was quiet. “I don’t deserve you, Zach.”

“What do you mean?” He asked with a nervous laugh. “I just poured myself out to you, and you’re going reject me with that excuse. We’re not perfect, Alex. No one is. Just give me a chance here.”

She glanced around for a moment. Her manager still had not came back from restocking on groceries, and Jane, her coworker, was in the back, making french bread for their lunch menu. No one had noticed her conversation with Zach. Not even the customers — the very few that were in there that early in the morning — had noticed. They were simply absorbed in either reading the newspaper or tapping angrily at their smartphones.

“Tell you what,” she said, lowering her voice. “We can talk when I’m off at one, okay?”

He did not look convinced, but nodded. “Yeah, sure. I’ll meet you here?”

“Outside,” Alexis said. “Just wait outside.”

“It’s a plan.”
Zach left with the plate in his hand. Within moments, the door closed with the chimes ringing in response. She let out a sigh. Five hours to go…

Scars and Memories

Most people call them scars, I call them memories.

Yeah, that thin white line that runs across both my wrists: a memory — and a bad one; that uneven red-circled white blotch on my right knee: another memory; even the black-crusted scab forming on my left collar bone, that too, will form into a memory one day.

Actually, it already has.

I got it while curling my hair yesterday morning, after putting my curling iron much too close to my skin. Red and irritated, it stung the entire day. Stupid way to ruin my skin, I know. But that’s how it happened. What are you gonna do? Go back in time — yeah, right. Good luck with that.

The other two scars — memories — you ask? Well, the one on my knee was from crashing my bicycle into the road. I was six, and my father thought I was ready to ride without training wheels. You can see with this proof alone, I obviously wasn’t. Scrapped both my knees and palms; only my right knee scarred. Weird, isn’t it — how some things heal and others don’t. They leave a mark on you forever.

The scars on my wrists, I don’t want to talk about those. I think you’re smart enough to figure that one out yourself. Perhaps, you’ve done it too. If so, let me tell you a secret someone once told me: it isn’t worth it. I didn’t believe them then, but I do know. Hear me out on this one. I know what I’m talking about. I’ve been there before. It’s not fun.

Trust me.

What’s the point of me writing this, you ask now? Well, let me tell you. Unlike most poor souls, I was saved. Saved from death. Saved from doing many stupid things. I don’t want anyone to ever experience what I had to. No one deserves that. No one. That’s why. I want to lend a helping hand to those who don’t have one.
Because we all know there are many that don’t.

Breakroom

I woke up to find the world spinning around me, and sick to my stomach. I pushed a hand to my head and groggily sat up. I was on top of a table that sat in the middle of the room, cool to touch and very much hard to lay on — as I soon realized when my back began to ache. The breakroom. I was in the breakroom. What in the world— what had happened? I couldn’t remember.

I had opened at 10 AM, and worked a good few hours before…

Before my memory went black.

My head throbbed with pain and I groaned. Goddamn headache. I hopped off the table and planted my feet to the ground. That was when everything flipped above me for only a second’s time, and I slipped. I caught myself on the edge of the table, panting. I was sick. I don’t know why or how I got sick — but I was very much sick; that much I could tell.

I slowly stepped across the room, to the water dispenser. Maybe I was dehydrated. Maybe all I needed was to drink some water. Then I would be as good as new. Hopefully.

Or maybe, I’ll never get better—

I stopped myself from thinking that negative thought. This wasn’t the time. I had gulped down an entire glass, before the door opened. I was greeted with a set of familiar blue eyes and straw blonde hair. He gave me a sad smile.

“Are you feeling better, Chloe?” Dylan asked, concern filling his voice. He slipped into a chair at the table.

“Besides the fact that I feel like shit,” I said. I took another swig of water. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m better.”

Relief filled his face and he sighed with a small shake of his head. “You got us all worried out there. I wanted to call an ambulance, but Trish said it was just a dizzy spell. She said you’ve been having them all week, apparently?”

I bit my lip and nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He frowned.

Why should I have told you? I thought. It wasn’t like we were close. We were only co-workers; I couldn’t even consider him a friend. I may have had a crush on him in the past, but it was painfully one-sided, and I was quick to give up. What was the point of liking someone, if they barely spoke to you?

“I didn’t think it was important.” Which was true enough, in my opinion.

He didn’t look satisfied with my answer, and the falling corners of his mouth seemed to go lower. “If you’re not feeling well, Chloe, you need to tell someone. What happened today, caused the entire crew to become worried, and it put extra stress on them all; because we were down one person — you.”

So that was it. I pressed my lips together. He wasn’t worried about me, he was worried about what it had done to the others — the employees; the company. How typical of him.

“And who made you the manager,” I muttered.

“I’m only trying to help,” he said calmly. “Had you gone home instead, we could’ve avoided this mess.”

“Well, I’m sorry for ruining your perfect day. I didn’t know I was going to faint either.” My words came out sharper than I had meant them to — yet, his face remained the same. Not even a flinch.

“You should probably go home,” he told me. “If you still don’t feel well tomorrow, call in sick.” I didn’t say anything. He stood up and pushed in his chair. “Okay?”

“Of course.” There was bitterness in my voice, but he seemed to have chosen to ignore it.

Dylan walked towards the door. “Get better,” he said as the door closed behind him.
“As if you care,” I said for only myself to hear.

Knock

It was on his third knock that he finally heard shuffling of feet towards the door. Luke straightened and waited for the door to open.

It didn’t.

He blinked, confused, and waited a few more moments. Nothing. He cleared his throat. “Adda?”

“What,” a muffled, small voice said from the other side of the door.

“Aren’t you going to open the door?”

A few seconds went by before she replied. “That depends on what you came here for.”

He sighed. Luke raised the loaf of banana nut bread to the peephole. “Banana nut bread,” he told her, then lowering it back down. “Do you want it?”

Silence.

He could then hear the clicking of locks. The door creaked open only an inch or two, revealing half of Adda’s face. “Did you make it?”

“No,” he exclaimed. As if he could bake! The last time he tried to make a cake, it ended up being burnt to a black crisp. It looked more like coal than a dessert. Adda’s eyes widened at his raised voice. He then added softly, “No, I can’t bake for the life of me. Margaret downstairs made it.”

“You don’t want it?” Her voice was a tiny whisper. What was this? Twenty questions?

“I’m grateful for it, I really am — and I’m sure it’s to die for — but I’m allergic to nuts. Margaret seems to always forget that — well, that and the fact that my birthday is next month and not today…”

She blinked at him and he blinked back. This was going nowhere. “Do you — do you want it? I mean, I’m not going to eat it. I would give to to Michael, but I doubt he’d eat it, being as obsessed as he is about eating only gluten-free foods.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I’d just hate for it to go to waste, you know.”

“I’ll take it.” Her voice was stiff, and cheeks flushed. “I don’t like bananas, but I’ll…try it.”

“Cool, thanks.” She opened the door more and Luke handed her the bread. Her fingers were cold. He smiled at her, “I hope you like it, at least.”

She shrugged, not looking him in the eyes. “I don’t like wasting food.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that, so instead, he said, “I’ll see you later then?” She nodded wordlessly. He turned away. “Tell me if the bread’s good or not.”

“Sure.”
Luke started back down the hall, towards his apartment. He could feel Adda’s eyes burning on his back.

Him

Something drew her to him.

She didn’t know what it was. It surely wasn’t that he was attractive to her — no. He was, but…it was in a different way. He wasn’t the typical guy she would see and then automatically be taken aback by. He was a normal guy. He had dark hair, dark eyes. Some facial hair; and though she didn’t prefer it on most men — on him — it somehow fit. He was always wearing a dorky smile, and his glasses being sometimes crooked.

He was a guy that she could pass on the street and not even look his way.

It was so odd. She barely knew him, and yet, she felt so drawn in by him. She wanted to be close to him. She wanted to be near him. For him to touch her — just slightly — brightened her day. When he called her cute, she blushed fiercely. Just talking to him, was enough; her day would go from a low to a high instantly. That horrible, tiring day of work would become a great one.

It was a crime — how he made her feel by such small things he did.

She just couldn’t understand why. He had a girlfriend. And she knew, sometimes those don’t last, but — sometimes they did. Besides, that wasn’t her business, was it? No, it wasn’t. None of her business. She wasn’t going to get in the middle of that. But then…then why did he do all those things for her? Why? — why? — why? Why would he do so much for her? Just her. He helped her when she didn’t need help. Was that because it was part of his job or he wanted to be with her? It didn’t make any sense.

Maybe she was reading him wrong. That always was the solution for everything, wasn’t it? He was a crush. Her crush. It was quite possible, with just that alone — she was overthinking it. She’d done it multiple times before. It was nothing new. How could anyone like her, anyways? He probably didn’t even see her in that kind of light.

It could have been he saw her as a friend, or possibly, a little sister. She wasn’t feminine-looking, she was more like a child. A wide, round face; button nose with freckles; big eyes. She might’ve been an adult, but she still looked like a little girl. The only thing that made her look her age was her height, and maybe the slight curve of her hips. She was tall…almost as tall as him. It was embarrassing.

She was an adult that was still stuck a mere child, and he — he was and looked like an adult. They were, oh, so different.

Okay, so what if — say — he had low standards…

What if, he broke up with his girlfriend, or it just wasn’t working out between them. Or maybe, he was just lying from the very beginning. Would he do that?

She didn’t know him well enough to to tell.

He could have; he couldn’t have. Maybe; maybe not. It could go either way. And she was stuck in between. She wanted it to be true. So true. Her heart wanted — begged it to be. But that was a lot to ask for, maybe too much to ask for, even.

He was the first to give her such kind attention. He was the first to seem so positively interested in her and what she did. He laughed at her tiny remarks. He helped her up when she was so stupidly clumsy. Every single time — he was there; and she just didn’t know what to do with knowing that.

He would stand close to her, just close enough that she could smell the soap he used. The cologne he may, or may not wear (she could never figure out if he did or not). It was a nice smell, one she could never get enough of. He smelled clean. She loved it.

And then, if the rest wasn’t bad enough, there was that age difference, too.

She didn’t know his exact age, but she knew it was quite older than herself. She was legal age, sure, but being with him? It might seem odd to some. Around six years difference — more or less — is it that bad? For her, of course no. She would do anything at this point to be with him.

But there were so many, many things stopping her from that. And she’ll just have to wait until it’s all cleared up in that jumbled, confused mind of hers.

Maybe it’ll happen; maybe it won’t. Who’s to say — for there’s so much time ahead of her.

Empty

It was so empty….so empty without her.

Alice.

Just thinking her name was enough to make his heart feel like it was being torn to pieces. There was a knife wedged in him, tearing out his insides one by there. Saying it hurt was an understatement; it broke him. He was broken.

Alen sat up from his bed. He glanced over at the clock. It was already 3 PM, where had his day gone? To sleep, he thought bitterly. That was all he did lately, wasn’t it? — sleep. After all, he had no job, no friends, and no…no Alice. Everything he had cared for was lost.

Why me? He had thought for a moment. Then the thought bubbled up — he already knew. It’s all karma, he told himself, every single part of it. Karma…

He didn’t believe in karma. Not until now. He didn’t believe in anything, really. Religion? No. Superstitions? No. Ghosts? Hell, no. They were all stupid myths humans came up with because they were bored. Probably.

But now…now it was all different.

He stood up from his bed. It didn’t matter whether he believed in karma or not. He needed to stop moping around his room and go do something. Anything. He felt like he was going to suffocate after almost a month of nothing. He hated it. Even if it was just for a walk, he needed to do something.

He pulled on a white button-up shirt and some jeans. He barely ever wore jeans. It’s because you’re life used to be only about work, he mind whispered. Yes, that would make sense wouldn’t it? He never had time outside of work back then–

‘Back then’?  

He was acting like it was years since he had owned MION. Since Miranda took it from his grasp. No. No, it’s only been a few weeks. Barely a month. Not that long at all…

He walked towards the door of his apartment, his mind still lost in thoughts. Memories.

Technically, he didn’t need to work anymore. Not at all. Ever since his sister had taken the company, Mother had started to put money into his bank account. He didn’t ask her to. Actually, he rather she didn’t. It was like she was talking grief on him losing his job. He didn’t want her grief. She was the one who decided for Miranda to take the company. He didn’t want to do anything with her. Her money was dirtied by her slender hands. He wouldn’t touch it nor spend it. Bitch.

He left the apartment. It wasn’t a question whether he should or not. He needed a job — to keep his mind from elsewhere. If he kept it wandering like this, it would become dangerous. His emotions were like a roller coaster only going downhill. He’d reached rock bottom before. He didn’t want to go there again.

Sometimes Alen wondered if he had a mental disorder.

It seemed his emotions — self — was always unstable. Some days he would be happy as can be, other days he wanted to throw himself out a window. There were times when his anger had consumed him so, that he didn’t even remember breaking the things he did. Maybe he was bipolar. He was too stubborn to see a psychiatrist; to take medication.

Though, alcohol abuse might be a factor, too.

Whatever it was, he didn’t care about it now. Walking down the busy streets, barely pushing through the crowds of people, he realized he didn’t miss being outside at all. The cigarette smoke made him wrinkle his nose. It didn’t matter how dirty his hands were, smoking disgusted him. The loud talking was obnoxious. And those stupid, stupid girls that all squawked at his appearance, like they didn’t know he could hear them.

It was all, so, so sickening. To him.

“Shut up,” he screamed at the two young girls who were whispering about him. “Shut the hell up!” They both stared at him, wide-eyed. One was blond, the other was a fake redhead. Both looked to be in college.

“Jeez,” the redhead said, smirking. “What happened to you? — woke up on the wrong side of the bed? We can fix that.” Her friend grinned wider than she did.

“We’ll even do it for free,” the blond chimed in.

Alen turned away. “Just leave me alone,” he told them. He started to walk away, but the blonde grabbed his arm. Her eyes were blue…just like Alice’s. He couldn’t help the fear that crossed his face for a split-second. She let go immediately. “Please,” he begged, continuing to walk away. No one stopped him again. “Just leave me alone.”

He could still hear them muttering under their breaths, though. “What’s wrong, Alicia?” The redhead had asked.

“He had a crazy look in his eyes,” her friend replied. “It wasn’t worth it.”

Yes, he thought, ‘it wasnt worth it’…

It was better, after all, to only allow himself to be hurt. No one else.

The Day

The day my mom left was just like any other day. I heard her get up in the morning — her usual alarm blaring loud from her room; the water going on for her shower. She got ready fast and left for work before I was even up. I stayed in the comfort of my bed, knowing she’ll be back later. I thought it was going to be a normal day.

Little did I know, it wasn’t.

I did think it was a bit weird when she didn’t come home for a lunch break. Usually, she did. But sometimes, she had to work overtime, so it wasn’t all that surprising. The thing that bothered me more was she never called me. Not once all day. Normally, she would if she wasn’t able to come home. She would always make sure I was doing fine; I had eaten my lunch. It’s happened multiple times before. But today? Nothing.

Nothing at all.

By the time it was nighttime, much past the usual hour she got home, I became worried. I called her cell repeatedly. No answer. I left voice messages. Hell, I even called her work. And you know what they said?

“Norma?” A co-worker of my mom’s, Laura, said. I didn’t know her very well, but I had heard my mom mention her name a few times when she talked about work. “I haven’t seen her all day. She called in sick, actually.” There was a jolt in my stomach and I drew in a sharp breath.

“She…you didn’t see her?” I tried to keep my voice calm. My fingers were pale white as I gripped my cell phone.

“No. Is something wrong, Eden?” Her tone rose in the question.

I swallowed. “No, not at all. I was…just wondering. Thank you, Laura.” I hung up the phone before I could hear her reply. I waited a little longer after that, but it was pretty obvious to me what had happened.

Without any warning at all, mom had left me.

…

The first few weeks after her leaving were a blur. I moved out of the apartment my mom had rented, and into my dad’s house. I had to pack all that she left behind. Which, surprisingly, was a lot. She basically left everything. Even her room — her closet — was still filled with all her belongings. It made me wonder why. Why did she leave? Why didn’t she take anything? Just why?

Why did she leave me?

I bursted into tears many times I as I thought of those questions in my head. I would be pushing simple things — like pictures of me and her — into the boxes, and then my eyes would start to sting. The next thing I knew, I would be crying.

“What’s wrong, Eden?” My dad would ask, as he helped me with packing.

“Why would she leave me?” I would have cried out. “Why couldn’t she have brought me with her?” My hands would cover my face as I started to sob harder. And my dad, he would only stand there; paralyzed. His eyes, were filled with worry, but his face was straight. He never replied or tried to comfort me.

I don’t think even he knew the answer.