Oreo Ice Cream

Chapter 17| T-word

I managed to avoid Elle for the rest of the classes until we got a break after our Literature classes. I walked down the hallway—the cold air slapped my face. I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear and wrapped my arms around my elbows. After arranging the books in my locker, Olivia—Zed's girlfriend—confronted me. This girl's so much into hair colors, god! Her ash brown hair came down her shoulder as she straightened her violet blouse, giving a good view of the angel wing's tattoo next to her collarbone. "So, how's everything with Asher?"

I inhaled the air, filled with Olivia's spicy sandalwood perfume. I wanted to tell her, watch your face. Kerry and Olivia fought last Tuesday over spilling coke on the latter's skirt and thus got one-week detention. I sighed, "Good, I guess. I heard you and Zed had your first kiss." I saw Mrs. Madison walking on the tiled floor while her heels tapped on it fiercely—I wondered what would happen if it cracked one day. Mrs. Daisy Madison was indeed a lovely lady. I haven't had any of my classes with her. We only spoke once at the library while we both were finding a suitable book to read, and thus ended up reading The Importance of Being Earnest. Madison has always been friendly to everyone; rumors have it that she was the unhappiest woman ever, with three divorces. She glared at me as she walked past us.

"Shut up!" Olivia scowled at me. I snorted and looked away and found Tris a meter or two away from us, walking towards us. He must have been planning to spend the next class at the library. 

"I still can't believe you two got together again. Damn it. You must be grateful to him; he showed pity on you." Olivia glanced at Tristan. My heart raced faster seeing him. I half-expected him to come forward and say something. But Christ, damn him, he gave me a blank stare before turning his head back to the hallway.

Little did my poor brain know he would come up and grab Olivia's freaking hair and smash her head into the locker. But good god! He didn't. An unwelcome pang ached my heart before I faced Olivia. 

"Poor you, your boyfriend didn't even wink!" She mocked me with a pout. A spark of anger filled me. I clenched my jaw and gritted my teeth. My ears burnt in rage; I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks. She was about to storm off when I grabbed her arms. I was somebody who you should never mess with at school, of course. Because outside of it, I'm a dumbass with bookish knowledge, and I knew that was Mum's only worry about me.

I grabbed her arms more tightly, waiting for her to whine in pain. "Let go of me, bitch!" Her ash-brown hair fluttered a little, covering her eyes. I gripped her wrist this time, more fiercely, "I can do a lot of stuff now, you know." My voice came lower than I expected. She flinched back when I let go of her hand. Brushing her thumb on the red spot on her right arm, she shot a deadly glare at me and cursed me under her breath. 

~*~

I was fuming. I was so damn angry. I couldn't tell anyone how much. Like, a supernova could occur at any time. My breath was coming in short pants. I was like a burning star. Crushing pain twisted my heart and chopped it into fine pieces—like some soft meat. My fingers clutched my palms harder; my knuckles were white, and I could feel a muscle jumping in my jaw. I had been so only a couple of times: the last time I had been so, I remembered, I was so hell angry with myself for getting a few marks less than Clara, the damned redhead, in our final exams when I was in my eighth grade. But today, it felt like something more—like a twisting and aching pain—and not any hateful pain. Packing my bag, I closed my locker and turned back to make my way through the hallway.

I walked down the narrow hallway: vintage paintings of Van Gogh, Da Vinci, Pablo Picasso, Rembrandt, and Claud Monet—framed in thick golden wooden frames stacked on the grey walls of the hallway. My braid had come down loose—about to get untied completely—so I took the hair tie off and unbraided my rough hair. I seriously needed everything to loosen, not just my hair. A pressure came off my scalp, and it felt somewhat calm when I unbraided my hair before exiting the hallway and reaching the bikeshed. It was then that I realized that my scalp had been burning like a cigar all along. It was burning like hell—another pang ached my heart, and this time it was sharp enough to make me let out a breathy sob. And this time, it made me feel so fragile. I wanted someone to pity me. Wait—was it heartbreak? Was this what they call heartbreak? But no, Swift's songs tell more about it. Heartbreaks are somewhat unbearable when you cry out loud all day, going so hell crazy, and spend time loitering in your toilet with lipstick-stained tissues and no-one-can-hear-yet-i-will-scream cries. My heart thrummed in my throat. 

I put my hands on my chest: I could feel my fragile heart beating.  

Thump, thump, thump.

So alive, so fluttery, so hot—it was burning. A ramble came rolling down my tongue, but I let it slither away. I was in no mood for anything. And it took me a few times to convince myself that I wasn't heartbroken. Never ever can Flora Ellwood be heartbroken.

I was sure my heart was okay—totally and undeniably fine. But it was crushing into things I didn't know: tears burned my eyes, and I scrunched my nose in disgust. I hated crying. Not even to myself. The air was chilly, and I wrapped my arms around myself, clutching the sleeves of my tiered top. My throat was burning even in the mild weather. The sun had taken a brief leave from the sky, and the dandelions were too lazy to dance anymore. The same song hit my head again; I held my head tightly—but it was unstoppable. The beats were blazing, and the lyrics were spinning things around me. And I know it's long gone, and there was nothing else I could do/ And I forget about you long enough to forget why I needed to.

I clutched my head tighter. Blood was flushing throughout my body: sparks of disgust and burning pain sent shivers like icy claw nails scratching my spine. I squeezed my eyes and swallowed down the lump forming in my throat.

"Looks like someone's heartbroken," A mocking laughter suddenly stopped the flaming song. The beats faded, and my breathing steadied. Lucy and Co.

I gulped down hard before facing her. Oh, that damn face! I wished I could give it a good punch. And those top-heavy maroon lips—god! I wished I could split her lips! Flipping her hair back, Lucy continued, "Aww, c'mon, don't waste time on him. We all know what will happen at the end. I am telling you, he's an asshole." I gritted my teeth and inhaled the sharp air. Somewhere I vaguely felt he was. "He's a great player. And if you think he's into you, forget that, girl. He's just setting a trap for you." And the rest of her words hardly reached my ears. My heart stopped at her word. Trap. A trap for me. Tristan and Trap? Oh yea, they go well. And suddenly, I felt like catching a line that scratched my brain. And the blood-stained petals will caress you forever/ And you'll forget him in the blue concert lights/ He's too far—a translation from Jane's prose. Too far, and I wished he was too far.

I moved past Lucy and Co. and walked faster down the dirty concrete road. Trap, trap, thump, thump, too far, too far, Tristan. And the blur of words stopped briefly. The cold breeze messed my hair—I didn't care at all. I was so damn trying to forget him for now. I crossed my arms, shivering at a lot of things. Air. I needed air. I stepped out of the school after taking my cycle from the shed. The roads were clean, and the petals of chrysanthemums were crushed in the mud. How tender and sad! A bird was singing far away, and an airplane passed above the sky. I looked up; warm tears damped my cheeks. My hand gripped the handles firmly, and I waited for a rough call from my back. But nobody did. Blood rushed to my numbing hands and legs, and my heart palpitated. Everywhere was a blur of yellow and brown, and it was difficult to focus on anything now. The rotten smell of chrysanthemum and the bird's faint song got tangled in the dark shadows of the T-word.

Hi, lovelies! So, I'm finally back! And it's quite a short chapter, I guess, and maybe not worth the wait. But I'm sorry; I split the chapter into two, and the next one will be coming soon (maybe next Sunday). Life's less hectic now, and I'm happy I could finally know what you all think about the outcomes. 

Besides, how's everyone's weekend been? Well, I got little to no time to cuddle under my blanket and watch Netflix, but I read a few pages of Notes From A Small Room (by Ruskin Bond), and it's so amazing! Can't wait to hear what y'all think about the duo. Can anyone think of a good ship name for Tristan and Flora?❤️