Forgetting Me

03 | Meeting Thaddeus

Emma's POV

The day was bright and sunny and the sky was a addictive shade of azure blue. I could already tell today's trip to the Art Museum was going to be amazing.

It was a bit of a shame that I hadn't been able to go with my own class where my friends were. On the bright side, I could make new friends from another class. 

The teacher from the other art class introduced me as I stood in front of the other class nervously, thousands of pretty butterflies fluttering without a clear direction inside my stomach. "Class, Emma from the other art class will be joining us today. She missed her trip last week." I smiled my widest and waved enthusiastically. Was that too much cheeriness oh gosh I think that WAS too much oh my I hope people don't think I'm too weird. Wait. I think they already KNOW I'm weird. The class unharmoniously grunted variations of Welcome and Hello. I spotted the one boy whose lips didn't even move; he was already in galaxies far, far away judging by his sombre and slightly dazed expression. He looked sad. Well, I thought to myself, it's up to Emma to turn that frown upside down! 

I sat down beside the boy on the bus. He looked at me and I could see layers and layers of unhappiness in his dark brown eyes. He stood up suddenly, looked around the bus, sighed and sat down, listening to music on his earpiece. Wayyyyyy awkward, I thought to myself. Maybe I should start the introductions. The boy's back was facing me and I tapped his shoulder to get him to face me. 

Once. Twice. Three times. You rude piece of - 

"What do you want?!" he snapped, pulling out his earpiece. Feisty, I smirked inwardly. 

"What's your name?" I asked brightly. 

"Thaddeus." 

"Hello! I'm Emma and-"

"Now that you know who I am, shut up and leave me alone," Thaddeus cut in icily. 

"There's no need to be rude, I just-" 

"I said, leave me alone," Thaddeus reinforced. 

I turned away and left him to be. He in turn faced the window. When I was sure he wasn't looking, I turned back to face him and observed his expression. 

It was closely guarded. I wasn't fooled. I had seen this expression, on people far older than him, who keep their troubles kept locked away in their minds, just to keep their kids from worrying about them. I knew, Daddy and Mummy had a habit of guarding their expressions around me when I was recovering. Thaddeus was so focused in his realm of thought looking at the view, he barely noticed my (very) blatant staring. If he paused for one moment and allowed his peripheral vision to do its thing, he would have noticed. But he was just so lost in looking into something other than the view. 

I frowned. How could someone so young have pain that runs so deep? 

Then I saw it: The tear. It was fascinating how a single water droplet could add such aesthetics to such a individualistic face; it wasn't that I was sadistic or anything. It was how real him crying made me feel, like every emotional heartstring in me was being pulled at once, I felt like doing everything I could to stop the pain he was feeling, his face was just so beautifully in pain. The tear streaked down his face, over his (ridiculously) well-shaped cheekbones, left a line of flushed red on his lips, and collected at his chin. It was then that I realised I was staring hard at Thaddeus, and staring like a pathetic, hormonal creep. I quickly looked away and saw that the bus was parking right in front of the Art Museum. 

Due to awesome peripheral vision (on good days I can see my ears), I saw that Thaddeus had burst out of his little bubble. He quickly wiped away his tear, and even with just peripheral vision, I couldn't help but notice once more how well-structured his jaw was. 

;

Sometimes when I enter a state of wondering and over-thinking,

I ask myself, "What am I?"

The answer is simple: 

I am defined by each and every one of my escape worlds, and how I care for and love others and myself in the one world I try to escape from. 

-4cidic

It was an entirely different experience touring the Museum alone, without anybody I know. Well, nobody I knew with the exception of Thaddeus and the teacher, but the teacher was too busy sipping much needed coffee in the Museum café after the noisy  bus ride to pay me any attention, and Thaddeus had articulated his wish to be away from humanity, despite my fervent insistence for the pair of us to be friends. It was a little sad really. 

I disliked being alone for more reasons than one, yet this was an entirely new experience. 

Solitude here was much different than I remembered it to be. In my nightmares, solitude was empty white-washed rooms smelling of disinfectant and faintly of dried-up metallic blood. The smells and the deprivation of colour carried on into my sleep. 

I'd forgotten the pleasures of alone time. Happy, mellow and quiet thoughts to yourself. I indulged in and noted how the different strokes and different methods used in every individual painting made them beautiful in their different ways. 

One painting captured my eye. A rocky sailboat, atop of a rocky sea, battled on by storm. I loved how I could actually hear gushing sounds, waves crashing atop of each other in crazy weather, rain gushing down, seawater mingling with the rain as water salty rushed over the boat passengers, I loved how I could feel emotions and my body seemed to be in that very panicky situation and never ceased to let up on the adrenaline feel and I shut my eyes and breathed deep, and I could see the dark blue-black sky, so like the painting, as I the sailor fought to stay alive. 

In every aspect that situation I was doomed for sure. I loved how alive it made me feel. Art always spoke to me in ways people could not. 

Footsteps. 

I opened my eyes, and Thaddeus stared at the masterpiece just like I did. 

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" I said, conversationally. 

Thaddeus kept silent.

Then he spoke. "If you're fucked up enough to think a storm at sea is cool, then sure. "

I grinned. 

He spoke, after all.