This Pic | Helena
Previous Pic | Aspen
"Honestly Helena I don't want to talk about it." I hear her sigh heavily and look up, seeing her blow a strand of her long straight coppery hair out of her face.
I twirl the plastic spoon in my empty cereal bowl, sitting across from her in silence. We stayed a while longer, since Mikey got called to his session. The cafeteria is reasonably empty, and the TV is running its usual morning news. Blizzard warnings, school closings, accidents, the usual.
"All I want to know is if you're the slightest bit curious." She speaks with soft kindness, trying her best to avoid saying anything that can set me off. I know she is because I can see it in the way she carries herself.
She speaks of my parents. Frankly, I haven't thought about them in a record breaking while. I tell people the simple side. The side I won't need to explain because if I try, I won't be able to say the words. I can barely explain the whole thing to myself anymore after all these years of finally training myself to not see it again, and I'm not going to stop for a mere second to vent my feelings. I see it as coming too far to stop now.
Instead I look up at Helena again and bring my hands onto my lap. "They're dead, Hels. What's there to be curious about." I quickly regret my rhetorical question because I know she knows. So I stop her from saying anything else.
"Forget about it. It really doesn't bother me anymore."
She gives me a surrenderous look and looks down at the dainty silver watch clasped around her wrist. She groans and lays flat against the table, her arms stretched forward above her head.
"You're late for your classes again, aren't you?" I ask, slightly grinning, happy this conversation gets to end. Although we are in clinic, we are still only 16. Meaning we still take moderate classes to keep up with school curriculum. After all, there are plenty of us who are perfectly capable of leading our own lives once we get out of here in 2 to 3 years, once we reach the age of 18. As long as we get a clean bill of sanity, they can't keep us living here forever. And I can't wait to get out.
"I'll see you later?" Helena grudgingly looks up from the table, sliding off the edge of the bench with her tray. I give her a grin and mouth 'bye' before she walks off and I'm left alone. I take off my robe and lay it next to me on the bench.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. I scratch the sides of my face that are getting flustered with pink tones. Trying to prolong my breaths, I perch my elbows on the table and stop touching my face.
"Stop. Aspen you need to stop phsysicing yourself out. Just don't think about it and it'll go away like it always does." I tell myself under my breath.
"Aspen like the tree?" I hear a voice raise from the silence behind me and startle me from my position. My chest grumbles when I realize who's voice it is. I turn around biting my bottom lip in place and opening my eyes, sighing.
"What do you want from me?" I look Tate in the eye weakly. He looks remotely hurt for a moment, but recovers quickly and shrugs it off.
"Just new. Don't really have any friends." Unlike his previous remarks, he's actually being honest. No smart comments about my display or actions. I actually find myself feeling a bit of instant regret for snapping at him.
He's still starring at me calmy, a blonde curl or two drooping over the center of his forehead. He motions to the place next to me with his chin. "Mind if I sit?"
Im lost why he's asking for my permission until I realize my robe is still draped over the bench. I quickly scoop it up and slide back into it as he sits down. Both our arms are on the table in some way as neither of us know exactly what to say. I chuckle to myself softly, making him turn his head to look at me, so I look at him in return.
"Yeah. Like the tree." I find myself saying more comfortably. He smiles at my remark, fully exposing two creased dimples next to the corners of his mouth. He plays with a black yarn bracelet tied around his wrist, not looking bothered by the hair in his face.
"How long have you been here?" He keeps his voice low, not looking up. I hesitate to answer at first because he seems to be asking in search of a sign of hope. One he isn't going to get from me.
"Since I was 6." I mumble, biting my nails. He looks up with furrowed eyebrows and pulls his legs up onto the bench so he's sitting criss-crossed and puts his hands on his knees. "Well how old are you now?"
He's getting hooked onto the topic he's brought up. He's sucking his cheeks in, making his face look more hollow and he's biting the inside of his lip. I breathe weakly and turn to him slightly.
"16."
I regret telling him as soon as his position drops to a slouch and his lips part in doom. So naturally, I try to fix it. "It's not that bad. I mean it was when I was little, but I'm okay now." I grin forcefully, hoping it was enough to lighten his spirits. No one says anything for a short moment, and then he looks back up, shaking his head softly with the same expression.
"You're not okay, Aspen."
I pause in my movement to listen to him and squeak out a sad excuse for a sound of 'excuse me.'
"If you were okay, you wouldn't be in here and neither would I. None of us would be."
I freeze completely and my throat quenches up, beads of sweat building at my hairline. I'm not mad- I'm not panicking, I'm not having a mental breakdown. But I feel the need to get up and out of this situation to think straight. I slide off the side of the bench and whip towards the door out of the cafeteria, my robe trailing behind me. I continue walking as fast as I can, shielding my face so I can't see him getting up after me out of the corner of my eye. I'm not even half way across the room when I feel a cold hand wrap around my wrist and pulling me to turn around.
"Aspen, I didn't mean to-"
"No, its not your fault" I interrupt. "I just- I need to get out of here for a while. Clear my head."
He shakes his head at himself, looking at me full of sorrow. "I'm sorry." His voice cracks although it was almost a whisper.
"It's okay." I mutter my words, reluctantly turning myself for the door again, rubbing my blurred eyes.
As soon as I hear the door close behind me, I pick up my pace and start to run to my room, passing people and brushing past shoulders. I get to my room and push the door open, sliding in and shutting it behind me. An grin sneaks its way onto my face from my eagerness to get outside. I pull out my dresser drawer and pull out a creme suede longsleeve and black pants. I strip from my pajamas and fling them onto my bed, slipping on my clothes along with a pair of wollen socks. I put on black ankle boots, grab my coat and mittens and I'm out the door.
