I stretch my arms out and enter the bed. I slip some slippers on my feet and pad downstairs. I walk to the kitchen, making some tea. I rub the sleep out of my eyes and yawn.
I grab my cup and walk to the living room. I shriek and drop the cup. It shatters into pieces. There was some guy, with a hood, sitting on my couch. A random guy. And then he looks at me. It was Oliver.
"Oh, hey Chai!" He exclaims, the amusement clear on his face. I sigh and bend down, picking up the glass. Oliver is by my side in seconds. He grabs my hands and wraps his around mine. I look at him with questioning eyes.
"Picking up glass is hazardous for your health. Let's get a broom." He says. I want to laugh. I don't, I just nod and let him lead me to the kitchen. His hands still wrapped around mine. Once we're in front of the sink he pulls his hands away. The comforting warmth suddenly gone. I look down at my hands. A few cuts were stopping my knuckles. The blood was already drying. Oliver turns on the sink and grabs my hands. He puts them under the water and washes off the blood. Then he dabs he cut with a towel.
"Bandaids?" I point to the cabinet above him. He lets go of my hands and opens the cabinet, he looks around for a minute or so and then pulls out the small box of bandaids. He puts two on my knuckles. We walk back into the living room, taking a seat on the couch that I used to sit on with my mom as we watched 'American idol'.
"Oliver, why are you here at 7:00 in the morning?" I ask. He shrugs.
"I wanted to see you." He states.
"M-me?" I stammer. He nods, turning to look at me. His eyes were glossy, devoid of emotion.
"Yes, you Chai."
"Oliver, why-why do you still talk to me?" I ask.
"Because." And I just lost it. Tears sprung from my eyes. I was lost. I was nothing. My mothers death was everything. And then Oliver. My emotions were a jumbled mess. But at the same time, I had no emotions. I was numb. I sobbed and Oliver held me in his arms. I was confused. I was hurt. I was happy. I was angry. I was Chai. I was screwed up, I was messed up. I was not okay. I will never be okay. And as if Oliver could read my thoughts he whispered to me,
"Remember Chai, sometimes it's okay to not be okay." And I slipped into the darkness.
YOU ARE READING
The boy & the brownies.
Teen Fiction"Sometimes it's okay to not be okay." Chai Flee was a broken girl. Oliver Rhine was a broken boy. And somewhere along the way of the crazy adventure we call life. Chai and Oliver met each other.
