the girl named winter

| 33 |

A/N (tw for this a/n: self-harm)

Hiyers!!! Just so you know, it's been six months since I last cut myself!!!

I know it should be private or something but I'm just so happy I made it this long I thought I should share it with you guys :)

Thanks for the lovely voters and readers! There are like five to nine or something and I'm just so happy you're still reading is.

I'm gonna shut up now.

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

I adjust my hair bundle to the other side.

I study my reflection in the mirror.

Veronica helped me out with my attire.

"If this guy's going to see you for the first time," Veronica told me, pointing an accusing finger at the clothes I chose before which were, in her vocabulary, my Grandma's style. "You better be presentable and not wear these choices of junk."

I rolled my eyes. "He has a girlfriend."

The surprise look on her face that was frozen for a long moment was worth a million dollars.

You're only going to meet him, Winter. It's not a big deal, I repeat again and again, desperately trying to calm myself.

But it is a big deal.

What if he thinks I'm too ugly, or my hair doesn't shape my head perfectly, or my lips are too dry?

Getting conscious, I apply more lip gloss on my chapped lips before puckering them nervously.

I know I'm not a beauty.

There are bags under my eyes, too small for my big round face.

My nose is too big; Veronica used to make fun of it.

My ears are too small.

I'm a failed hybrid of two Asian couples.

I take one last look at the mirror. I grab my phone. There are bills in my back pockets.

I end up wearing ripped jeans with an oversized white t-shirt with a black print in arial black. My oldest shoes, a pair of Sketchers, is Veronica's pick.

There's something tugging at the depths of my stomach as I walk down the stairs noiselessly.

A demon lifts up from the clouds in my head, telling me I should turn around and just shove my face in my pillow.

No, I argue. This is my only chance in being a teenager. What could possibly go wrong?

Veronica's beside Marie's bed right now. She told me her kin was going through a surgery, and I supported her in doing so.

The bar isn't that far.

I take the train for five minutes.

It's already 9:13.

I hop out and jog towards the rendezvous.

Sweat rains down my body and occupies my forehead as I struggle to go at a faster rate.

It's already 9:20.

I round at a corner, realizing I took the wrong turn.

It's already 9:24.

He hasn't text me since last night when I gaze down at my phone.

It's already 9:25.

East Park towers over me, its bright yellow lights illuminating the whole block. There's a hushed sound coming from the inside, the protective walls surrounding the building.

It's already 9:27.

I'm having second thoughts. I close my eyes tightly.

It's already 9:29.

I pay at the front desk and enter the door. A man in his twenties ushers me inside.

I sit at a table near the black thick soundproof wall. A candle stands at the middle of the brown oak table. I take my phone out before having the chance to observe the place.

I'm here, I send.

It's already 9:32.

I tap my fingers on the edge of the table. I look around.

My knees are shaking. My lip's getting bruised with my constant chewing.

When the musicians are getting ready for their performance on the raised stage, I nervously glance at my phone.

It's already 9:49.

No texts.

No calls.

No anything.

Nothing.

What did I honestly expect?

I slump back in my seat, banging my head on the table.

The vocalist taps the microphone twice to check if there was sound and much to his expectation, sound waves and a shriek vibrate throughout the room.

I look up.

He clears his throat, cupping the stand of the microphone. "Good evening, everyone," he greets, smiling widely. His tough jaw pokes out as his gray eyes glitter in the spotlight. There's a guitar on his lower body and he carefully handles it.

"For our first song tonight, we - I, personally - would like to dedicate this song to someone I know dearly." He pushes his glasses that are on the perch of his nose. He toss his brown hair backwards as he continues, smiling shyly. "We dedicate this for all those broken people out there that needs help, that tries to survive the large current by staying strong. I'd like to dedicate this to Winter."

My blood runs cold.

All I can hear is my heartbeat.

I stare at the man at the stage, how he's so collected and calm as his fingers jump while changing the chords.

I stare at how his other hand strums gracefully across the strings.

I stare at the way his mouth opens and at the way his Adam's apple moves with the beat.

Amid the crowd's cheer and the drums wild beat together with the guitars' melody, I'm focusing only on one man.

And that man looks at me.

We stare at each other, never breaking eye contact.

Sweat appears on his forehead, dripping like rain.

My hands are getting wet.

He smiles at a verse he sings with his heart.

I lick my lips.

His grin goes wider.

I take a deep breath as I continued to stare at him, mystified by the beauty he hold.

He bids goodnight, waving at the crowd who were cheering energetically.

I take my phone out.

It's already 9:52.

I look up and see him going down from the stage at the other end.

His gaze is fixated on me.

My hands are frozen on my lap.

He walks towards me, his smile wider than before and his gray eyes showing vox populi.

I grip my hands into fists.

He slows his pace as he approaches me.

I grab my phone and stand up, walking out of the place in a flash.