Delicate Pulse | Violentine

L𝐨𝐚𝐭𝐡e

"Have you had a concussion before?"

"Probably," I mutter. "I'm pretty sure my dad dropped me as a kid. It was his favourite story to tell."

Sophie chews on the end of her pencil. "You can lose memory, right? Or like, it can mess with your head?"

"I guess, why?"

From the corner of my eye I watch her swivel in my direction. "Don't you think Clementine's been acting weird? Y'know, ever since she got sick?"

"I haven't noticed," I lie.

"Violet, she's not sitting with us. She hasn't sat with us for weeks," she points out. "Do you guys even hang out in your room?"

I remain silent. Maybe if I don't say anything she'll drop it and move on.

"Viiiii," she whines, throwing her head to the ceiling.

"Look, Soph, I don't really want to talk about it," I grumble. "If you like Clementine so much you should just go sit with her. I don't care."

"Are you sure about that," she says, slyly, nudging me. I was well aware I was violently assaulting a notebook to death. Paper tearing and crumpling in my fists.

"Just go talk to her," she urges, she sounds fed up.

"No."

"It worked last time, didn't it?"

"It's not like last time," I hiss.

"Um, why not...?"

"Because this time she's the fucking asshole. I've done nothing wrong."

I was sure about that. I flipped back and forth through the memories. I analyze every conversation, pulling them apart. I even did a lame ass brainstorm. Nothing of significance stood out to me. It really pissed me off.

The twin slumps in her seat, crossing her arms. "It takes two tango."

I crack my head at her. "Sophie, for your own safety, I'm asking you to kindly shut the fuck up before I shove this paint brush right up your ass."

"Paint brushes are for painting only, Miss Adlon."

With a sharp twist, I'm met with our art teacher. Her gaze is stern. Well, shit.

"I would give you detention but I'm in a good mood," she snaps. She motions towards Sophie, her attitude completely changing. "Congratulations, Sophie, Mr. Ericsson has approved your request," she grins, clapping her hands together.

A smile glows on Soph's face. She straightens her posture, brushing her fingers through her long red waves.

"You'll start this after class. Where's....Clementine? Clementine! What are you doing over there?"

Our teacher barks at Clementine. Who is sitting alone, in a corner. Doing her own shit. She looks a lot better, her face has more colour. Her hair has bounced back to it's natural untamed state. She wasn't sick for very long but somehow she appears older, more mature. Less innocent.

Yet again, I hadn't exactly been keeping an eye on her. I avoided her every chance I could. Her words still hurt.

Clementine glances up, her shoulders square. "The, uh, natural lighting is better," she defends herself. Her voice is still a little gruffly.

"Well, come over here," she orders. "You guys should have a game plan for your project."

Project? The fuck?

"We aren't working together," I quickly say but she's already walked off. Typical.

Clem reluctantly shuffles over to us. I duck, feeling my face heat up...from anger i suppose. Fucking fantastic.