A Match Made in Hell

31

3 years ago

I gasp as a cold drink spills onto my white shirt, immediately soaking it and making me flinch.

"My god, I'm so sorry!" Someone quickly apologises. A strange accent in his voice.

I lift my head up to look at the people from behind who had pushed him on top of me, laughing as they point at him. Or us.

I look down at the boy who bumped into me, his dirty blonde hair taking up his face from my point of view. He lifts his head up and looks into my eyes in fear, his cheeks going a deep red.

"I'm so sorry about your shirt I-"

"It's okay, don't worry about it. You're fine." I quickly smile at him. "Are you okay? Ignore those guys. Trust me, they're just picking on people to boost their tiny egos."

"Yeah, I'm alright. Thank you." He steps away from me awkwardly, refusing to meet my eyes. "And you're right, I guess."

"It's true." I shrug. "I'm Aiden, you are?"

"Zachary." He smiles, holding his hand out which I gladly take. "Pleasure to meet you."

"If you don't mind me asking, Zachary, how old are you?"

He looks down to the floor again in embarrassment. "Thirteen." He quickly answers.

"Not that it's any of my business, but you're too young to be drinking or smoking, don't you think? It's bad for you." I say as he pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

"Drink wasn't alcohol." He argues. "It was just coke, to look older and that sort of bullshit. The cigarettes are just... I don't know, a coping mechanism?" He laughs with the cigarette between his lips as he lights it up.

"What do you need to cope from?" I ask.

"My parents kicked me out a few months ago, said I was a disappointment or whatever, I can't even remember." He forces out a laugh.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. How old are you?" He suddenly changes the subject.

"Thirteen." I smile, blushing slightly.

"Too young to be at a party, don't you think?" He teases, smacking my shoulder.

"Kids from the street dragged me here. I hate crowded spots." I laugh.

"You look older than thirteen." He takes the cigarette in between his index and middle finger. "I'd say maybe 15 or 16."

"Younger, actually." I laugh. "I'm not thirteen yet."

"No way." He gasps.

"Yes way." I laugh. "I turn thirteen next month."

"Damn." He swears under his breath and takes another hit from his cigarette.

"Your accent is nice. Are you Russian?" I question.

"Ukrainian." He corrects. "Do not ask what I'm doing in America, I don't know the answer to that. If I could, I'd be back in my country."

"I really like your voice." I blurt out without meaning to, a dark red blush spreading across my cheeks when I realize what I just said.

"You do?" He smirks.

"Yeah," I shamelessly admit. "I love it."

"Why thank you, Aiden." He runs a hand down my arm. "I guess I could say the same for you. Are you too young for me to tell you that you're hot?"

"If we stay in touch, I'll grow some guns and be even hotter. Perhaps you could consider then." I wink at him jokingly, which he laughs at.

Throwing his cigarette to the floor, he pulls another one out of his pocket, reaching for a lighter. After digging in his pocket for a long time, a lighter falls to the ground right next to my feet.