Born Wrong

09. a boy who tries to be nice

Bright Seo

I feel nothing.

When I woke up this morning, I didn't want to be alive. More accurately, I didn't care to be alive. Life has always been a meaningless concept for me, but today, it held no semblance of purpose. There was no urgency, contentment, or will. It was just stagnancy, as it always has been.

Whenever this happens, I skip classes. There was no point. In the grand scheme of things, what was one more absence to a list of others? What was another tally on my records if I wasn't going to be here long? I never saw myself living past nineteen, so everything means nothing and consequences were insignificant.

But, I went.

Not because today was the day I started prioritizing my education, but because I couldn't stand hearing another argument from my parents, yelling from the first floor of our rented townhouse. I couldn't go to The Strip either, because I would be too tempted to try to get into the ring, so I went to school.

Partially.

I attended the first three classes on my schedule, which is a record for me, but I didn't want to go to the next one. While everyone made their way to their next period, I escaped to the second floor of the building, where there's a gender-neutral bathroom that no one uses. It's a recent remodel, after some student-led advocacy pushed about equal spaces, but due to its location and the two flights of stairs, students tend to opt for the restrooms on the first floor.

Which makes it a perfect place to hideout.

I've been in the stall for a good minute, trying to gain some sort of composure, but achieved nothing. So, I stepped outside to wash my hands and instead was greeted with my best friend's little sister.

Why do I keep seeing her everywhere?

I let out an involuntary groan, stepping out and approaching the sink. From my peripheral vision, she stiffen against the windowsill she sits on, her legs crossed against the long counter, her fingers fidgeting with a familiar red bracelet on her wrist.

A sigh of relief escapes her once she recognizes it's me.

I turn on the faucet, but I don't turn to her. "What are you doing?"

My delivery is cold and emotionless.

"Hmm?" She sounds distracted, her fingers still messing with the delicate string of the red bracelet, but has now drawn her attention to me. "Oh. Oh. Nothing."

That sounds like an obvious lie.

I turn off the faucet and face her, noticing the forced expression she puts on—the feigned casualness and normalcy. It is a recognizable look, because I've done that shit before. A million times over—when I still cared.

"What about you?" She deflects, slipping her legs off the length of the counter. She doesn't hit the floor, instead, swings her short legs against the tiled plates behind—her feet inches off the ground. "What are you doing?"

My reply was instantaneous and sharp. "None of your business."

"Wow." She chuckles, shaking her head softly, little wisps of her dark hair falls before her face. "We're both having not-so-good days, huh?"

"My days are always like this." I answer, reaching for a disposable paper towel and wiping my hands clean before throwing them away.

"That's not good."

Her unorthodox reaction caught me by surprise. She tilts her head to the side, waiting for a follow-up, with a small, patient smile and an arm draped across her chest, covering the top-half of her shirt.