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ayumidah"I don't understand," Christa wails, her face buried into the arm of the couch. It looks far from comfortable but she seems unwilling to move so I leave her there, moving into the kitchen to get a bottle of water for her, should she stop crying long enough to sip from it... or maybe to give her something to throw if this becomes that sort of a breakdown. I hope she doesn't break anything serious if it does, not up to listening to a lecture from my parents, but I'm determined to see her through this so I keep my misgivings to myself as I rejoin her. She's hiccuping and sniffing against the ugly threads of the furniture, her eyes red-rimmed and itchy looking when she meets my gaze once more. "Why do men suck, Evan?"
I pause, wondering if she's ever looked at me long enough to notice that I am, yes, one of those horrible things known as a man too, but I keep my thoughts to myself, my hurt feelings off of my face as I sit down next to her and try to think about something to do to help her. "What happened?" I finally settle on, resting the water on a coaster, my mother's chiding voice echoing through my head to keep the wooden table safe from moisture.
"Lane and I had a fight," she grouses. "The next thing I know, he's asking Genevieve out to prom, like I don't even exist or something!" She sits up finally and stares at me, fire mixing in with the pain she's feeling. "He's a jackass!" Cursing from her always sounds funny but she looks so miserable that I can't bring myself to feel any kind of pleasure. Especially when she slumps back in on herself, tracing circles in the couch cushion. "I don't understand why I'm never enough," she groans.
I stare at her, the words on the tip of my tongue, that she'd always been more than enough for me, but I can't find the strength to say them, especially when she starts crying again, this time burying her face in my sweater, causing me to freeze. Finally, my arms instinctively wrap around her and she snuggles closer to me, the two of us finding vastly different kinds of comfort from this moment of just being. I'm not sure how much time has passed when she pulls away and wipes at her eyes, smiling shakily at me. "Is there anything I can do to help you?" I ask, not sure what exactly I'm saying, just reaching for something, anything, to make her stay a little longer.
She looks like she's about to refuse, but then a cunning look overwhelms both the sadness and the anger that she's been ping-ponging between the last hour. "Actually, yes," she says slowly, as if thinking it through even as she speaks. "You can take me to the prom instead! It'll be perfect!"
I gape at her, barely able to squeak much less form actual words, when she grips my hands and squeezes them warmly, staring up at me in that way that I could never deny, no matter what. I absently wonder how it is my skin tingles whenever she touches me, but she never seems affected by the connection of our flesh. "A-- alright," I choke out, trying not to dwell on it. "I can do that, sure."
Her arms being thrown around me feel like heaven and a noose all at once. "Thank you thank you thank you! You're the best friend a girl could ever ask for!" She's up and racing around the room, grabbing her discarded purse and, yes, the bottle of water, before dashing for the door. "I'll call you later, we'll discuss what we're going to wear! We have to match, you know! Talk soon!" She blows a kiss at me and, as quickly as she had arrived, crying and yelling about how horrible Lane is, she's gone, now full of smiles and planning vengeance for the night of prom.
All I can do is stare at where she had last stood and wonder what I've gotten myself into now.
I pause, wondering if she's ever looked at me long enough to notice that I am, yes, one of those horrible things known as a man too, but I keep my thoughts to myself, my hurt feelings off of my face as I sit down next to her and try to think about something to do to help her. "What happened?" I finally settle on, resting the water on a coaster, my mother's chiding voice echoing through my head to keep the wooden table safe from moisture.
"Lane and I had a fight," she grouses. "The next thing I know, he's asking Genevieve out to prom, like I don't even exist or something!" She sits up finally and stares at me, fire mixing in with the pain she's feeling. "He's a jackass!" Cursing from her always sounds funny but she looks so miserable that I can't bring myself to feel any kind of pleasure. Especially when she slumps back in on herself, tracing circles in the couch cushion. "I don't understand why I'm never enough," she groans.
I stare at her, the words on the tip of my tongue, that she'd always been more than enough for me, but I can't find the strength to say them, especially when she starts crying again, this time burying her face in my sweater, causing me to freeze. Finally, my arms instinctively wrap around her and she snuggles closer to me, the two of us finding vastly different kinds of comfort from this moment of just being. I'm not sure how much time has passed when she pulls away and wipes at her eyes, smiling shakily at me. "Is there anything I can do to help you?" I ask, not sure what exactly I'm saying, just reaching for something, anything, to make her stay a little longer.
She looks like she's about to refuse, but then a cunning look overwhelms both the sadness and the anger that she's been ping-ponging between the last hour. "Actually, yes," she says slowly, as if thinking it through even as she speaks. "You can take me to the prom instead! It'll be perfect!"
I gape at her, barely able to squeak much less form actual words, when she grips my hands and squeezes them warmly, staring up at me in that way that I could never deny, no matter what. I absently wonder how it is my skin tingles whenever she touches me, but she never seems affected by the connection of our flesh. "A-- alright," I choke out, trying not to dwell on it. "I can do that, sure."
Her arms being thrown around me feel like heaven and a noose all at once. "Thank you thank you thank you! You're the best friend a girl could ever ask for!" She's up and racing around the room, grabbing her discarded purse and, yes, the bottle of water, before dashing for the door. "I'll call you later, we'll discuss what we're going to wear! We have to match, you know! Talk soon!" She blows a kiss at me and, as quickly as she had arrived, crying and yelling about how horrible Lane is, she's gone, now full of smiles and planning vengeance for the night of prom.
All I can do is stare at where she had last stood and wonder what I've gotten myself into now.
