Oreo Ice Cream

Chapter 16| Gas chamber

The brush of Tris's thumb on my jawbone couldn't leave my mind for the rest of the day. My brain could do only one thing: I couldn't stop imagining what happened today in the bikeshed. The classroom was a blur of chaos and monochrome. I stretched my legs backward when I almost kicked Cole's sneakers. I gasped and jerked forward, about to pull it away, when he caught it between his sneakers. I chuckled, "Cole!"

He squeezed my arms, "You looked somewhat—" He paused as I turned back at him. He arched his eyebrows as he leaned forward. 

"Weird?" I wanted to say pensive, but that would have been a lie because I was acting weird lately.

"No, you're overthinking, Coral," He let go of my legs so I could face him properly. Mr. Stewart was absent today, meaning we could easily pass ten minutes as our free time. The air smelled like vanilla, or maybe it was my shampoo—whatever it was, it made me feel good despite the already-done and still-going mess. I stared at his black eyes, expecting him to continue.

"You think things are obsessive or look psychopathic, don't you? You think everything's a red mess like Austen's novels." I bit my lower lip. "That's so wrong, Flora. That's a delusion that crowds your mind like a blindfold. You lock yourself in that little chamber—and that's your pathetic gas chamber." Hearing him call me by my name builds up something heavy in my chest. I looked straight into his eyes; the noises faded a little.

"Do you think I'm egoistic?" He brushes his finger on my nails. My heart raced faster weirdly.

"That's not the question, Coral," he said slowly, "That's what people think—and not all they say is the truth. Truth is where you feel your nerves threatening you to stop and think once; the truth is when you let yourself fly high. But you know what, sometimes they fly towards hell and feel as if they are free. And you're doing sort of that, Coral. I only want to make sure you're not doing anything wrong." He paused and looked at me. His eyes grew hooded. Something unnatural echoed through the room—a constant buzzing. I pulled back my shoulder; a part of me dreads listening anymore. He squeezed my palm harder, breaking my trance.

My head spun a little; his words were like a sip of wine into my brain, enough to make it feel slurry. Not exactly slurry, but something more than that—as if the truth is overhyped. Gran used to say, "The truth is like your chic satin dress. If you wear it, you're gorgeous; but if you dance in flame wearing it—everything will slip away." But I guessed Cole was right. A green blanket of hypnotism clouded me. And there would be no stepping back once you wrap it around yourself. Unfortunately, you could never know when it happened—only on some random Sunday you found yourself wrapped in the blanket, and you knew you couldn't leave it or yourself.

"I just don't know, Cole—"

"Because you're not letting yourself!" He interrupted, and this time he was louder enough to tremble my fingers. I breathed in the vanilla-scented air. I knew I was wrong. Completely, irrevocably wrong. I shouldn't have laid stress on facts that didn't at all matter to anybody in this world but me. Things wouldn't have gone worse if I didn't let myself get locked into the gas chamber, which was the most terrible part. 

~*~

"Wow, you here?" Tristan grinned at me. Not that I usually have my lunch in the cafeteria, but today I felt a strong urge to drag my feet there. It's been a long time since I have felt the winds slap my face at lunch—and that was what I needed the most.

"I don't think I'm not allowed here, am I?" I narrowed my eyes at him as I took a big bite of the ham sandwich. Mm, whoa! The last time I went out to have this, it was some awful sandwich with too much salt. The mayonnaise was too good to wipe away the crumbs of thoughts from my throat.