Sympathy for the Devil

3

We walked side by side, the crisp autumn air enveloping us. The tension was palpable. Killian had his hands shoved in his jeans' pockets as he kept his distance from me.

I hugged my arms around myself, feeling the chill of the air and the weight of our unspoken words. The leaves crunched beneath our feet, the only sound breaking the silence.

"Killian?" I ventured, my voice barely audible. I treaded carefully as I mulled over what I was going to say. I know how easily someone can be set off when asked questions that can be misconstrued as simple.

He turned, his molten brown eyes meeting mine. "Yeah?"

"Why don't you go to school?" I asked the question that has been on my mind for a while.

Killian chuckled softly. "We haven't seen each other in five years, and you ask me that? You are still quite the nerd, Jellie Belly."

My cheeks turned red. "God, is that nickname back? It sucked even back then."

"Come on, I have five years of torture to make up for. Teasing you was the best back then. Your cheeks would always turn the deepest shade of red. Kind of like how they are now." He pointed out with a smirk, tugging at his full lips.

I rubbed at my cheek, trying to erase the blush with my fingertips.

"Stop it," I playfully warned.

Killian's grin faltered, his eyes turning serious. "Honestly, Ellie, school wasn't my thing. I had other priorities. My mom tried to homeschool me once, though. I can't say it worked out much."

"I see," I said, intrigued by the shift in his demeanor. "Homeschooling can be tough. I can't even imagine if my dad tried to homeschool me. There would be at least one or two heated battles. We are both completely stubborn and headstrong. Did you...Did you ever think about going back to public school?"

Killian's gaze drifted ahead, his jaw clenched. He hesitated slightly before saying, "Nah, it wasn't an option. Besides, I learned more on my own. I can read whatever I want and learn whatever I have to here. In public school, there are too many rules and structures in place even to be able to breathe in that suppressive system of bullshit." Killian's eyes darted around as his tone became more closed off and reserved.

I sensed there was more to the story, but Killian's closed-off expression warned me not to pry. He closed his eyes as if remembering a painful memory, but wiped it away with a few blinks.

We walked in silence for a moment, the scattered leaves crunching beneath our feet. The air in Central Park was filled with the sweet scent of decaying leaves and the distant smell of wood smoke.

The sounds of honking horns, chattering pedestrians, and wailing sirens created a dim cacophony as we entered the heart of the park.

I closed my eyes, inhaling the iconic scents of New York City: stale soft pretzels, crispy falafel, and sizzling hot dogs wafting from street vendors on every corner. Though locals like myself never eat that crap, these flavors were an integral part of the city's charm, a tourist allure I'd grown accustomed to but lately found myself outgrowing.

I hate being a part of a tourist trap. At least SoHo is a more artistic scene, rather than being overtly loud and obnoxious due to the tourists blocking pedestrians to take photos of a building. Not even a unique building. Just another lame skyscraper.

I used to love growing up here, but there is too much baggage here now. The city left me behind. I no longer have the ambition to pursue a career on Broadway or attend Juilliard. I don't even feel the desire to submit my photography to an art gallery. I'm stuck in a suffocatingly small place with suffocatingly small people.