Up, Up and Away

17// incomplete

chapter 17: incomplete

   Walt wants to cry.

    Not out of pain, not out of the overriding sadness that comes from never tasting happiness, not out of disgust in him; for the first time in years. Out of relief.

    That morning, Holland showed up at his house at nearly 7 a.m. The only color she wore was blood red, on her lips. The rest of the outfit had been completely black. Her combat boots, ripped jeans, complimentary jacket. What destabilized him in the morning was the black tube top under the jacket, one that displayed her cleavage subtly. She caught him looking for more than thirty seconds and nearly slapped him. She lectured him on the importance of glancing, not staring, and repeated the lesson on how to behave around a woman to earn and give her respect. He'd been groggy and cranky, so she'd given him the nickname Grumpy. His mother made her breakfast and he noticed that she closed her eyes tightly after every bite of the pancakes, asked to keep the rest, for her brother.

    It was the day after midterm exams, before the holidays. The school counsel had prepared a free clothes day, pictures to be taken with a 'Santa', gift exchanges and a dance after school. Walt never took any pictures or went to the dance since freshman year, he only saved up to buy himself something that could, perhaps, momentarily take his mind off the misery at school. He never wore anything but the same Christmas sweater, one with festive motifs and Darth Vader's head right in the middle. He got one compliment on it, in three years.

    Both Holland and Walt knew that this day was the one to show off the new and improved Walt, one who didn't stammer as much around a pretty girl or a jock with more abs than brain. And so, sixty minutes subsequent to her arrival, Walt didn't recognize himself in the mirror.

   She got him contacts, transparent ones, even though he kind of hoped to get grey eyes. Some kind of cream was in his hair, she ruffled her hands in it and declared being done. There wasn't any snow outside, so she chose a light, black jean jacket and underneath it a grey shirt. They fought over the tightness of the jeans for over half an hour, but all she needed to do to make him sag his pants a little was harshly pull them over his butt and zip them up. (While zipping them up, he had a rational fear that she'd hit his genital area. She did, he still believes it wasn't an accident.)

   "We match," she said. She looked awfully emotional for a moment, and then hugged him. He wasn't too sure how to hug her back, trying to recall her lessons seemed to be impossible, when the smell of his cologne on the side of her pale neck fogged his brain.

   "Don't become a douche-bag," she mumbled in his ear.

   "Okay."

    Hands on her waist, he saw his reflection in her eyes when Holly said: "Promise."

   "Okay?" at her disgruntled look, he added: "I promise."

   She kissed his cheek and afterwards, it took him more than a few minutes to regain the courage and confidence he had before her lips touched his cheek. She didn't notice the blush on his cheek, instead just licked her lips, put her thumb on them and wiped a smudge of lipstick from his face.

    "Let's go, Walt." They were in the corridor near his locker, an isolated one. He nodded and walked by her side, remembering to breathe and keep a casual look on his face.

   Holly's voice filled his thoughts for the next seconds:

Make five second intense eye-contact with people who look at you, especially girls. Guys too, but in your case, look at them with condescend.

Focus on keeping your eyes off the ground. No, Walt! Don't look at your shoes!

You look good, flaunt the shit out of it.

Play your favorite song in your head. Imagine you're walking in slow motion to it, like a boss. No, not video games! Actually...maybe video games.

    He could do this. He knew he could. He practiced for weeks now. He flexed in the mirror and saw muscles that were never there before. He smiled more with Holly. He could knock out anyone who stood in his way. Once, during his classes with Winona, who still intimidated him, he imagined the punching bag as Dave and broke through it.

    But there was this voice in his head. The source to his doubts, his hate to the world. It was louder than the song playing in his head, Gives You Hell by The All-American Rejects, louder than his own heartbeat.

   You're a failure, it said. They all hate you. You're nothing but a loser. No one will want to look at you. You think dressing nice helps? It doesn't. You just look dumb. You're dumb. You're an idiot for thinking this will work.

   He took five steps into the pent-up halls before a group of girls pointed at him. He felt like a new student, but he wasn't. He knew these people, he saw them ignore him and look away in shameless pity. Hi! Walt, right? were what he heard most. The jocks eyed him in disbelief and one of them laughed, but Walt looked at him and smiled.

   He gave nods to prying eyes and glanced at Holly. She wasn't smiling, but smirking. She walked closely to him and winked at him. This was working. The only way he knew how it did was because his mind was silent. Nothing bad was being said. It was almost as if the first time a girl looked at him and smiled with adoring eyes, the voice got muted.

   Anaelle leaned against her locker; she was still a few meters away. Her friends whispered in her ear and she looked at him. His legs got wobbly and he tripped on his own feet. Holland was the first to recover; she slid her arm around his torso and stood on her toes to whisper: "Arm around me." Indifferently, he put his arm around her and it gave him the support he needed.

   "Walter?" gasped Ana, stopping in front of him.

   "Ana," he struggled not to stutter.

   "Wow," she smiled at him. "You look great."

   "Thanks," he returned the gesture.

    Her pupils dilated at the sight of a smile and she crooked her head to the side. "We have Chem today?"

    They did; he would never forget that.

   "I think so," he said.

   She batted her eyes and a fuzzy feeling warmed his stomach. "I'll see you then." Holly squeezed his waist.

   The whole scenario isn't why he ended up crying in his bed that night. He's crying, because not one insult emerged during the whole day. He's crying, because for the first time in years, not one person looked down at him. He's crying, because Ana invited him to her Christmas party the next week. He's crying, because he doesn't feel like a reject.

   Fuck yeah, says the voice of confidence in his mind. He's never heard that voice, but he can get used to the sound of it.

-

heyo! shit's going down soon!! CAN U GUESS WHAT'S GONNA HAPPEN