the girl named winter

| 55 |

f i f t y - f i v e
d a y s
b e f o r e

7:21 am

I hate it that you're nice.

Well, good morning to you, too.

See what I mean?

You hate nice people?

I hate it when someone's nice with me.

I'm not being nice to you.

You're here.

My presence doesn't determine if I'm being nice or not. Like, right now, I'm fighting with you.

Huh. You call this fighting?

What would you rather call it?

"Arguing."

I'd rather call this a lover's quarrel.

Don't you dare flirt with me.

Oh! I get it!

?

I get it why you're name's Winter.

Because I'm cold?

Because winters are white and pure. Just like you :)

You don't anything about me.

You're just hurt. You're not bad.

I never said I'm bad. I said I hate it when people are nice to me.

Why?

I don't want to talk about it.

"This is stupid," I murmur ironically audacious to myself as I place the phone on my bedside table. I take a deep breath as I close my eyes.

Talking to this stranger first thing in the morning sounds insane, but I really need to talk to someone who's willing to listen (Veronica's busy with Marie) rather than my devious thoughts who wouldn't stop giving me pessimistic ideas.

As I enter the showered naked, I remember how Rey and I first met.

"You're crying."

I look up from the book before me that I was pretending to read. The tears in my eyes make it kind of blurry but nevertheless I see a boy in a green polo shirt with black hair in front of me in this silent library. "Of course I'm not," I spit back sarcastically.

The side of his mouth quirks upward. "That wasn't a question."

"That wasn't an assurance that I would answer your follow-up questions."

He takes a deep breath and hands me a piece of paper. "Here's my number."

I just stare at it uninvitingly.

He stands up and touches my shoulder lightly. "I'll always be here for you," he promises, staring into me, before walking away.

"Damn, damn, damn," I murmur, closing my eyes as I let the water drop on my skin heavily.

I never thought before that a single stranger could mean so much to me, could make me into something exquisite, could turn me into a devastated nobody.

And that is why I hate it that this stranger is nice with me.

Making up my mind, I walk towards my phone in a towel, water still dripping around me.

7:52 am

What do you want to talk about?

8:15 am

How do I avoid you?

You can't :)

Oh trust me. I can.