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𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒎𝒆.
Antoine's Perspective
I keep running, and the only thing that stops me finally in my mad dash to nowhere and away from nothing is when I trip over my fancy dress shoes, falling on the cracked, wet sidewalk, skinning my knees, ruining my pants. My only nice pants.
I haven't realized it is raining until right now. But I'm soaked. Another cold coming soon, I guess, this means. Lightning is somewhere far away, and thunder is quiet, but it terrifies me. I hate storms, but this is where I am, and I have no where to go. I wonder how the weather and timing always seems to get it right. It annoys me. It shouldn't be like that. How come whenever I'm falling apart, and about to break, I always end up alone, in the dark, outside, in the rain, in a storm? When my emotions are a storm, the weather is, too. It shouldn't be so consistent... I'm not sure why it makes me so angry that it works like that all the time, but I'm so mad about it that I tremble.
My palms are skinned. And my knees. And my expensive pants are ruined. I look down at my white shirt, but it isn't white. It's bright red. I remember vaguely those kids throwing that awful gross sticky party fruit punch at me. My whole outfit is ruined.
My whole life is ruined.
I'm in the middle of some neighborhood that I have never seen before. No one is around. No cars. All the lights are off everyone. People who should be asleep are sleeping. No one will find me. Thank God. Even if I were found by now, nothing good could come out of it. Good things don't come in my life, I think.
I have no energy anymore.
Surprisingly, though, I'm not crying. I can't breathe, and everything is falling apart, and nothing is right, but I'm not crying.
I'm not crying yet. Yet.
I lay on the ground, in an unknown place, unable to do anything else.
Reese's Perspective
Honestly, I should be happy for Brooke. She is dancing with handsome heartthrob Henri. In the middle of the floor. Looking like the most beautiful girl ever, in her sparkly silver high heels, tight beautiful short pink dress, and expensive necklace. I stand watching them from afar, alone. No guys want to dance with me, a girl in a cheaper red dress that looks terrible on me, plain grey high heels, and cheap loop earrings.
To say I feel out of place and lonely would be completely accurate.
It is hard to take. I find, after a while, I don't even really want to be here anymore. No one would miss my presence. I might as well go home now, if I'm not even having fun and no one would care if I left, right?
I sigh, walking out of the gym, walking outside to the parking lot, to get in my car. I slip behind the driver's seat, turn my key, start up the car, and get going.
I find myself going for a rainy night drive. Windows open. Feeling a strange peace. I feel better alone here than I would have if I stayed at the dance. I'm glad I left. I'm glad I'm here right now.
I'm driving through a neighborhood, and ahead, I see something strange on the sidewalk. A lump... It's trembling. I hear a noise... Gasping? Maybe? It suddenly clicks that that is a person, and my arms shake at the wheel, a lump forming in my throat.
I pull over on the other side of the road. I get out of my car, quickly pray to God to keep me safe, and slowly walk over to the other side of the street. I know this is stupid. I don't know who this is. They could be a psycho, for all I know. Psycho or not, though, I have a feeling that this is someone who needs help. Maybe just a psycho that needs help.
Either way, I'm the only person to help them right now. So I sure as hell better.
I slowly walk over, and as I'm stepping up onto the island, I say to this person, who I realise is male, wearing messed up dress clothes and looks young and strong, "Are you... okay, sir?" I can assume he very well could be straight from homecoming. A high school disaster.
Insane blue eyes look up at me. Freaked out. Scary. Crazy. Swirling. Fearful. And anger. Too much anger for my liking. Too much.
And I know those blue eyes.
I know that usually just neat enough brownish hair. I know those, thicker, angry eyebrows. This person gives me that look all the time. I know that mouth, those lips, that expression. I know that concerned wrinkled forehead. I know that panic, somehow, although I have never really seen it on his face.
The eyes of me and Antoine Griezmann meet.
I hate him. I have spent all this time hating him. I have pushed out the guilt I have been feeling about doing what I did for him, but it has been there. It has been hard to ignore. I kept thinking, Antoine has been so bad to me, but is it really right for me to be that bad to him back? I have been wrestling with that question. And now I think I have gotten my answer.
There is nothing I can say. My mouth won't work. I try to move, but I can't.
So I watch.
I watch is his face crinkles up in pain, anger, and fear. He is still gasping. I realise he can't breathe. Something is terribly wrong. My brain is working too slow. I can't process this all as fast as I should. I'm shocked. I'm way too shocked for this.
Should I help him stand? Should I walk away? Should I bent down and hug him? Should I try to talk to him? Should I encourage him to breath? Should I say sorry? Should I tell him it is all going to be okay? That he shouldn't worry? Or should I call for help with my cell phone? Help wouldn't come fast enough. He is freaking out. He looks like a scared beast. Shaken up. Stronger than me, but more afraid of me. It doesn't make sense.
Before I can do anything, though, Antoine utters these words. Breathy, and hard to understand, but I catch them. "Reese Mallory, get the f*** away from me..."
