Guess who's still writing? Hahaha, this bitch right here lmao. Here's a particularly edgy piece. I'd make it less edgy, but I just got out of exams...so I'm kind of drowning in feels. In other news, y'all will be getting more frequents with the story now! Of course, they're all snippets, but it's better than nothing amirite?
“Is it really over?” Wrath asks me, looking at me worriedly. I try to avoid his gaze. It’s a question I’d rather not answer.
“Yeah.” I let out an exasperated sigh. But maybe I should answer. Wrath gingerly puts his hand on my shoulder. Sparks sporadically fly off the crack in my skin. Wires peek out of the cracks like unsuspecting plants growing between the cracks of a sidewalk. Any more damage and I would’ve looked like a walking system unit.
I try to wipe off the blood from my chin, but I end up smearing it, making it worse. I try to rub off the blood on my hands, but it won’t come off. I wish I could cry. Too bad I don’t have tear ducts. I wish I could cry. I wish I could forget. But I have all my memories synced to computers in the lab. It’s all just too bad.
“In the end, no good came of it.”
“You sure?” He doesn’t look convinced. I sure don’t feel convinced either.
Because maybe, I too, want to know if it really is over.
Because it certainly doesn’t feel like it.
She was never mine, but I still let her go.
Or rather, she let go of me.
I look back in the bloodied alleyway. I see her. I discreetly wave to her, hoping maybe we could salvage this.
She doesn’t wave back.
I guess we can’t.
I’ve always been a hopeless romantic. Even without a functioning heart.
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
Because I don’t want to admit that it is all over. But it hurts so damn bad for it to be true.
Both inside and out.
“I have better things to do than be here.” She looks at me as if it’s my fault she’s here. It isn’t. I shuffle awkwardly in my seat. The feeling’s mutual. At least we’re on the same page.
“Me too. I have to make dinner tonight. The sooner we hit the books, the sooner we’ll both get to leave.” I look at her, trying not to throw the chair next to me at the wall. I mean, she hasn’t done anything (yet) to make me hate her. Other than the fact that she dates a jerk.
I shouldn’t hold that against her. Sure, her boyfriend isn’t the epitome of evil (Satan is), but he’s racist. Painfully so. Unfortunately, he’d rather use his fists to make his opinion clear rather than words. Then again, he’s tame compared to the others. I rub my bandaged arm underneath my uniform. It’s been about a saptāha since her so-called boyfriend and his friends ganged up on me and almost broke my non-cybernetic arm. It still hurts.
I take a deep breath and exhale. It’ll only be as bad as I make it out to be. Besides, it’s not like this could possibly escalate to anything bad so long as her boyfriend doesn’t know, right? What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.
“So what do you need help with?” I try to put on my best smile. I keep staring at her chocolate eyes.
She seems to take the hint.
“Nothing really.” She sounds like she means it.
“Your parents say otherwise.” I quip good-naturedly.
“Hey, you can’t hold me up against unrealistic Cipherean* standards. I can’t help it if my parents have high-as-fuck expectations of me.” She retorts, not so good-naturedly.
* Cephirean= Eastern Asian (it’s a work in progress)
“Whoa there, I didn’t ask for a life story. I’m just here to tutor you.”
She stares blankly at me for a second in confusion. Shit, that’s what her expression seems to say. She blinks back into reality and blushes profusely. Well, this is going great. At this rate, I just might make it home by just half past never.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that people make assumptions because I date a ‘jock’ that I’m a stupid blonde bimbo. Well, I’m not.” She grabs strands of her ombre cherry blonde hair and points to them. “And okay, I’ll admit my grades are slipping, but I didn’t think it’d be so bad that I’d need you,” She gestures to all of me, “to tutor me.” Her eyes throw daggers at me. “No offence, there’s nothing wrong with you.” She gestures to all of me again.
Like I’d believe that. Everything is wrong with me. Low-esteem and boys don’t exactly work well together. Especially if you’re the universe’s punching bag. Which is a title I wish I didn’t have. But I do, which sucks. A lot.
“Well, at least there’s you to believe there’s nothing wrong with me. That’s a first.” She smirks. “You haven’t been down on the streets, have you?”
“Actually, contrary to popular beliefs, I haven’t. It’s not like my parents would let me out there anyway, took me ages to convince them I was mature enough for a boyfriend...Why are you asking?” She gasps, her face turning pale. “You aren’t a drug dealer-- are you?”
“That’s what you’re concerned about?” I chuckle. This girl certainly has her priorities straight. I was scared she was going to ask if I was a murderer. Which I definitely wasn't. At all. Nothing to hide at all.
She raises a concerned eyebrow. I quickly reply, “No, I’m not.” to assuage her growing fear that her serial-killer tutor was a drug dealer. Because I am definitely not. Her face slowly gains colour. She’s sceptical.
She has every right to be.
“Moving on, I didn’t catch your name. Your name is?” She brings out her hand for a handshake.
I hesitate. What if I grow attached to her? I’ll suffer for it. But I have to tell her my name. It’s common courtesy. I bring out my hand to shake hers. “Kaito. Kaito Riseborough.” I reply.
“But no one calls me Kaito. I just go by Kai.” I quickly add.
We shake hands. I hold on for a little too long.
“Well, I just go by Genevieve. But my close friends call me Vive.” Genevieve laughs this bubbly laugh, and it makes me want to hurl. I don’t need this. I don’t want to like her. Or like like her for that matter.
“Am I one of your ‘close friends’?” I joke.
“You might earn that highly coveted title soon.” Genevieve giggles. “But seriously, like you said before, the sooner we do this, the sooner we get to go home. I want to binge watch Faye.”
The universe is trying so hard to make me not like her. “How far are you?” I ask before I realize that if we keep talking like this, we’ll never get to leave the godforsaken library.
“You really don’t want us to leave this library, do you?” Eyeing me carefully, she continued. “If you must know, I’m three seasons behind. I’m only one season five.”
I try hard not to fanboy. I try hard to keep myself from spoiling the season for her. I swallow my excitement and compose myself. “So what do you need help with?”
“I don’t really need your help.”
“Not this again.” I look at her knowingly. It’s a vicious cycle. I guess we both don’t want to leave.
“Okay, well maybe I might need a little help with Universal History. We got this project-”
“Wait. You're a freshman? I thought you were a junior.” I exclaim. Genevieve looks much older than 14.
“Shhh. We’re in a library. And yes, I am. It’s the makeup, I look like a baby without it. So there’s this unit project-”
“Where you research about lost races and civilizations across the universe and present it to the class as a five-minute lecture.” I finish. “You have Miss Ahn, right?” She nods. “Yeah, we did the same thing last semester.”
“Awesome! Kind of off topic, but how was the exam for U.H? I heard it was easy but then I heard it was hard, so I’m kind of worried.”
“It’s not that bad-” She looks relieved. “But it’s not easy either.” The look of relief disappears. “I can lend you my notes if you need them.” I quickly finish.
“Really? I mean, I’m doing fine in her class, but that exam is worth 20%. And as much as I hate to admit it, I need to bring my average up.” She looks grateful. My heart does a figurative backflip.
How am I supposed to do this?
I guess even if a lot of me is just wires and circuits, I’m still cursed with falling for the first pretty girl I see. Funny how that works. I don’t even have a functioning heart. Not like hearts really have anything to do with feelings. It’s all just symbolism.
“Because, you know-”
“Cephirean parents?” I finish her sentence.
“Don’t worry. Athiean parents aren’t so easy on their kids either. It’s either be a doctor, lawyer, or engineer.” I chuckle softly. Almost all my cousins are either doctors, lawyers or engineers, or some other high-paying job. “If not…” I make a gesture of me cutting my neck with a knife.
“Oof. What a mood. My parents want me to be a pharmacist. But I just want to be a cat lady.” She sighs dreamily. “Say, what do you suggest that I do? For, you know, the project. It’s worth 10%.” She looks nervous again.
“I know, I did the project already. But I thought it was a group project?”
“It is. But I wanted to do it on my own. Working in groups are a pain. I do most of the work anyways for every project. My classmates are just lazy asses.”
“Smart choice.” I think for a bit.
“Maybe...you should do the human race. We don’t hear about them often, now do we?”