Sincerely, The girl who left words Unsaid

42. Temporary Fix_Dirty Blonde

12/3

"Where the fuck do you think you going?" Victor Blake's voice was coarse, he definitely wasn't amused by it.

"College", that was technically true and the only answer Shane had. Of course, he would never think about telling his father about Jenny, not yet.

"Is it me or you back answering, young man?"

Now, he is confused about what to say or better yet if he should say anything at all, cause that wouldn't be amounting to back answering?

"Why you not saying anything?"

Silence is the best answer. If only.

"It's like I need to get my book from Ashton, he is getting it today."

"What happened to your last day of college which was last week?"

"Yeah but today I need to get the book from him and the thing is it wasn't available the other day. And I have doubts to clear so would be in the library and also have a class test", he can explain himself easily but an explanation to hide a lie was something he was never good at.

"Don't you have an entrance exam tomorrow?"

"I am already done preparing", another big fat ass lie because he hadn't started only. Everything in the world said he should stay home because Ashton was not getting the book at all in the first place, and was it really worth meeting Jenny? After everything that happened, it made no sense. When you let a crack appear on your pride and hinder your self-respect once, you are taken for granted and you're bound to bow every time. Once if you let your guard down, people expect you to do that again and again.

Neither of them had any lecture that day. She was supposed to be coming by 9:30 am but last minute it was decided 11:00 am. She had to leave for lunch with Carol around noon, and she couldn't have left her house before 10:00.

Shane didn't sleep. He usually took a train at 6:12 am, today he took at 5:52 am. He just couldn't sleep. His thoughts were out of control, they were like will a herd of Taurus that broke the barn fence and went galloping the entire hill, tearing apart anything that came in their way with their horns mightier than a sword. 

 He should have been studying, he knew that very well, he knew he is bound to be regretting this because if anything that's worse than failure is realizing, you earned that failure. But he was like that piece on the chessboard just on the line that separated black and white. He hated being in a middle. He didn't know what the right thing to do was. What he was doing, if it was wrong then why was it wrong? Some questions are very simple but the reason behind the answer adds to its undoubted complexity.

He crossed the roads like an ape as if he owned it, he had his headphones blasting with the volume raised to the maximum. He wasn't happy but wasn't sad either at that moment. He had thoughts but he wanted to shut them out and for that, they had to be let out. His bag had no books but a folded sketch he had got for jenny. She was the only woman, whom he was willing to give his artwork. 

For him, art was finding a new definition and it was her. There isn't any artist whois extraordinary and sane. Sane is normal. When an artist loses himself-control and spends time in isolation working on just one particular piece, it will always be because he has found someone so fascinating that he has an urge to capture it on paper. Not the way the world saw it, but how he did and that's what makes the whole difference. He wanted to be an artist of that kind and all he needed was skill, he had his inspiration, Jenny.

The folded sketch was not a very splendid one, to be honest. But, it was close to him. He was very young and he had sketched a tribal mother and daughter. He came over an image on the internet, very normal and very simple, but what caught his interest was the depth. Their eyes were half shut and glued to each other, the way the mother held her daughter was careful. He had made it for her mother but never told her that it was for her. It reminded him of her, Reverie Blake. He wanted to give that to Jenny. Because she needed it more than him.

He remembered every word she ever wrote and he felt every word too. The last email from her was about her mother. It was so powerful, he didn't know himself what was the right thing to do or the right thing to say. But, he got to see a side of her that all her best friends didn't know about. He asked her to write to him because she said stuff only to him that she denied to herself, she wrote so beautifully that he felt his writing was flawed, he loved the way she expressed without fear, he loved knowing her and he believed it bought him closer to her.

Blue denim and an oversized blue white full sleeve tee shirt, an olive green bag, and giant black shoes. He sat by the bay holding his cigarette in one hand and his lighter in the other, the click sound of the steel opening and closing was almost in a rhythm that was strange. The cigarette flipped in his fingers, gliding smoothly without any friction. Humidity was giving out hints that soon it was too hot to even stand out when the clock strikes noon. She was late and he knew her curfew timings. 

Sometimes, being alone is too dangerous because when you get used to it, it's close to impossible to leave this space of yours, the sublimity of which cannot be defined. He wanted to smoke so badly, it was just for her that he wasn't smoking. He knew she hated it. And he never lied to her. Not many people knew this but yes, he lied about his smoke so perfectly that even Satan would be insecure. He had many female friends who hated it and when they asked him not to smoke, he made sure he did and when they asked him he denied it. He lied but not to Jenny. That was his own ground rule he set for her and he wondered why.

Waiting for her, he started writing on his cellphone the book. He noticed how obnoxiously he had written all those letters that don't even say words properly. He noticed how he managed to add those letters which were preceding the chapters about which they were. He thought if it worked out well making it suspenseful and making people want to read the book more, he will swear that he did it purposely.  He noticed how he started off with two letters after a chapter and how he added so many in between just to delay himself from writing the things that he is trying not to. The more he mentioned her name the more he missed her.

Sometimes, he just missed her without having any reason to do so. How tormenting he thought it would be when he had all the reasons to miss her but not have her around. 

When thinking about her he couldn't help remember the last time he met her, which was or should have been the last time he met her. Just four days ago, his last day at college.