Oreo Ice Cream

Chapter 22| Disastrously Beautiful

Only Love Can Hurt Like This- Paloma Faith

Hurt- Johnny Crash

Sorry- Justin Bieber

When You're Gone- Shawn Mendes

It's just that sometimes you can't control thoughts from trashing your brain — intrusive thoughts, mainly. And right now, it's all about Tris. I didn't know how the same thing was happening again, much like replaying the same Nirvana song at night. It's nauseatic, insomniac — so fucking crazy. Just as the same song buzzes your nerves once you've heard it, Tris's thoughts swelled my nerves, threatening them to explode. The space between the lines of my thoughts and my psyche was too small for me to fit in. If I told Mum about this, she would be giving a lecture on ADHD. But I couldn't help it. I just wanted to let things out right now— kick them out of my head and breathe fresh beach air.

Tugging the bedsheets neatly, I dressed up for school, mentally preparing to meet Tristan after a long gap and acting nonchalant throughout. At least faking makes it feel better than rambling the monotonous: I'm okay reply.

Grabbing my bag, I glanced at my room one last time before descending the stairs. The story we had to write was planned already; handing him the sheets was in order. Tristan might be against this or would keep his jaw clenched and eyes cold, but it wouldn't matter.

There's a sombreness thickly clouding the air of the living room. Mum was sleeping on the couch with her blanket coming off her bare feet. I shook it before placing it over her fragile body and kissing her cheek. She stirred a little and mumbled, "Goodbye, Lorrie," before I went out for school.

~*~

A lump started forming in my throat as I walked to my Calculus class. I fought to push it back, convincing myself that it was a new week and that everything that had happened earlier would be another eroded history that none would remember. My veins buzzed so hard in my head until a raspy voice made me freeze. Well, familiarly raspy.

"Hey," he was clearly running after me. I stood still, clutching my bag strap, trying to breathe. Why did it always have to be him? Why did it always have to be the one I doubted and trusted the most at the same time? Maybe, my brain would process everything before my heart could and release oxytocin and dopamine whenever he'd be around me.

I turned around him and gulped down. Act nonchalant as if you don't care about anything. Whenever I tried to convince my damn mind that it was another of his sick games, I felt it harder to believe my thoughts. His loose Nirvana shirt, those ocean eyes, messy fringes — everything about him made it nearly impossible to hold back grudges. Yet again, that's how we are. But Tristan was something else — my favorite book — you open it and start reading, day or night, and there won't be any slim chance of remaining unaffected. And that was what was happening to me. You can't always fake things when real emotions overcome you.

"Hi," as much as I wanted to greet back in a much colder tone, it came out as a bare, croaked whisper. His eyes looked puzzled, and he was panting. I knew that look — I saw that in his eyes years back. I shivered. Something echoed in the back of my mind he deserves this. I cleared my throat and looked up. His eyes were wild blue. "Something up?" It was hard to blink rapidly and fake everything okay when the people you care about the most are with you.

"Look at me, Flo," His voice was a choco-dipped whisper. I didn't know if my heart skipped a beat, but my veins stopped buzzing after hearing him calling me by my weird nickname. Was it a feeling of being loved again? Or was it a wave of nostalgia sweeping across me? Either way, it made something bloom in my heart. It was ironic — the person I hated the most for that night was loved by me this morning.