The Best of Her

chapter thirteen.

Mavis.

Do you ever do something and immediately regret it the second after it's done?

Because I do that too often. I have rushes of impulses that I can not contain until I've done them, and now my big awful mistake is glaring right back at me in the mirror.

Cutting your bangs out of frustration is a bad idea, don't do it. I thank the sane part of me that decided to not cut too short, I guess I can curl them with a straightener so It wouldn't look that horrible. I throw the scissors on the floor and jump back on my bed, taking my book again and deciding to finish the chapter that was taking me so long. The words suddenly were too long and too boring for me, I need another distraction to focus so I put the music on.

After fifteen minutes of struggling trying to sit still, I give up and decide it's time to take a walk.

I don't enjoy crowds, but I like the buzzing streets of the city. I like the noises of honking cars, the people rushing around to get where they need to be, the tall buildings hovering over me, making me feel like an insignificant ant in the middle of a colony. It helps my mind concentrate on the outside world, and not remind me of what I did and said. I truly enjoy walking, the world spinning around me makes me feel like I can breathe again. Even if it's very polluted air, it's still nice.

I cut through an alley when I heard some noises coming from two boxes sitting next to each other. The noises were actually meows because around ten tiny kittens were inside the boxes, with nothing but a small blanket underneath them. I hope that someone didn't abandon them here, and it's just a stray cat that gave birth to them. They could have a least the decency to put them into a shelter or give them to someone who would care.

I bring out my phone and search for the closest shelter I could bring them to, and I frown when I find out it's twenty kilometers away. I don't think I can carry the two boxes and walk that far, and I can not bring them home my mom is allergic. I love cats and always wanted one, but I barely cared about my health when I was younger, I didn't think I would be about to care for a living being.

I crouch next to them and pet them, they keep whining and meowing and my heart breaks. They must be so hungry. I decide to do the unthinkable, bury my gigantic pride and ask for help. So I text June.

Me: are you free?

He almost immediately responds.

June: depends on who is asking?

Is he dumb or just playing dumb?

Me: I need help, can you drive to where I am at?

June: send me your location.

I'm surprised he didn't ask more and just agreed, i's unlike him to not push for more information, but then again I don't know him that good. He always surprises me with the most unexpected questions and reactions. When I think he is going to run away, he stays. He should run, most people who stood too long by me got hurt.

"I love you"  his pale blue eyes that once held so much mischief and joy now looked dull, sad.
"You don't. You think you do, but you don't. You don't even know me. You invented yourself a version of me that doesn't exist, so get over yourself."

A call from June brings me out from the memory path, and I shake my head concentrating on the words on the screen. I take a deep breath before responding. "Are you in an alley? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine and you shouldn't be talking on the phone while driving."

"You're on speaker. What are you doing there?" I think I could detect a hint of worry in his voice but I'm not so sure. "Just get here June, you will see."

He sighed, "alright, give me ten minutes."

When he hungs up, I realized that I like hearing his voice. I liked hearing that hint of worry, liked but then again maybe I'm being delusional. Recognizing tones and emotions aren't the best of my attributes, I've learned most of it when it should come to me naturally.

He arrived seventeen minutes later. I was waiting on the side road when I saw him jogging my way, dressed in a simple white t-shirt and grey joggers. My eyes were roaming his lean torso, realizing he is built like a model and not a football player. "Mavis," he calls my name in that way that gets me every time. His way. I meet his chocolate eyes and instead of greeting him like a normal human being I say, "you're eight minutes late."

He grins as if he expected it, "my bad, traffic and I had to find where to park my car. And you cut your bangs."

I stare at him for a long second before my hand automatically jolt to the thin strands of hair across my forehead, suddenly being self-conscious about how they look. He pushes away my fingers with his own and brushes them lightly before retracting them away. "They look nice, you look pretty."

You are pretty.

That is what I wanted to say. No, he is not only pretty but gorgeous, I don't know why I hadn't noticed it before but the way his features sit together is just perfect in his unique way. The brown of his eyes look like it was kissed by sunlight, high cheekbones and a sharp nose, and how could anyone overlook his lips, the perfect cupid bow above luscious lips. I was blinded by my anger at him to notice what I notice now.

I frown and turn around, going into the alley I hear him follow after me. "Are you angry at me?"

I am. I'm frustrated with him because I think he looks pretty. I'm frustrated because I think he has kissable lips and soft long hair that I wish I could run my fingers through. "I'm not."

I feel him stand behind me as I look down at the kittens in the boxes. I crouch down once again and without looking up I tell him, "I need help taking them to a shelter. I can't take them home."

He places himself beside me, he curiously eyes the boxes and then smiles again. "What are you smiling about?"

"I knew it."

"Knew what?"

He directed his smile at me now, "that you're not the scary person you present to the world."

I look away from him, hating how his gaze makes me feel naked and bare. "I never said I was a monster."

"You want to be a princess then?" that had me looking at him with a weird look that got him laughing. "I'm joking, you are not a princess. More like an evil Queen who's just misunderstood."

That had me smiling a little, it's cute that he thinks I'm misunderstood. "What If the evil queen doesn't want to be understood?"

He hums, "I don't believe that. Everyone wants to be understood, even if it's only by one person."

I hold his stare, long enough to feel the heat of it. Sometimes I say what's on my mind and most times I coward away, now is one of those sometimes. "Will you be that person for me June? Will you understand me?"