Rolling Stone Savior. (Discontinued)

Chapter Twelve

Love.

You’re not worthy to be loved!

Who deemed us, as human beings, worthy and unworthy of love? Was it God? A few months ago, if I had that thought about God dubbing us worthy to be loved or left alone, I would have hated God. Why? Because at that time, nobody loved me. Not even myself. My parents hated me, I hated me, and there was no one else around to have any opinion. But now that I was here in the comfort of Damien’s loving home, I was happy that God was the judge of that. It felt better to be unloved and then loved, to feel like you’re worthy and then unworthy, then to be loved from the start.

I sat on the steps of Damien’s brownstone, just pondering about the dramatic change my life had taken. If my parents could see me now, they’d be surprised. Not only did I love myself now, but someone else might too. Miss Trina definitely did, since my consistent presence at her home was reassurance that Damien was drifting away from Kiana (who I still knew nothing about), but I wasn’t too sure about her son. The last time he opened up to me about how he didn’t like his lisp and such was the last time we ever came close to flirting. I remembered the full conversation every day, and sometimes I regretted every sentence. Yesterday, I tried to hear myself calling him ‘GQ handsome’ and wished there was some way I could take it back. I meant it, but so what? I didn’t have to say it outright.

At least he knew how I felt about him. That way, maybe he’d realize he felt that way too.

But a boyfriend was the last thing on my mind. The first thing was—

“School,” Damien told Miss Trina, “she’s here so I can walk her to school.”

“Oh, alright,” She replied, turning around to get Damien a brown paper bag from the counter. “That’s your lunch. Don’t waste it, alright?”

“I won’t waste it. If I don’t want it, miss thing over there will. She’s always hungry.”

“Damien!” Trina snapped. “Don’t talk like that.”

“It’s alright, Miss Trina. I know he didn’t mean it like that.”

She was still sensitive to my previous state of near-starvation and constant depression, so anything Damien would say about me and food or being moody, she’d go crazy over. Miss Trina was the main reason I couldn’t stop thinking about my parents, because she couldn’t stop thinking about them either.

Suddenly we were being rushed out of the house and told not to be late, and also reminded of how to look before crossing the street (as if we were four). Finally, Damien and I left the house and were walking toward his high school.

“It’s not really far, just a few blocks’ walk. Maybe three.” He said as we turned the corner off of his block. At 7 AM in the heart of the city, there was dense traffic everywhere, on foot and on the road. I couldn’t take one step without bumping into someone, while Damien somehow managed to smoothly maneuver through the crowd. You’d think that after a few weeks I would get used to the bustle, but I didn’t.

“That’s fine. Is there anything I should know about before I go in?”

Damien thought for a while, stroking the stubble that grew at the base of his chin when he forgot to shave for a while. I didn’t know him that well, but for some reason I assumed that he only forgot to shave when he was stressed. What could be stressing him? Definitely not Me, since as the days went by we’d begun talking to each other like unacquainted roommates instead of old friends/almost-in-a-relationship.

“Nothing really, besides, well: kids can be cruel. So don’t feel bad if people are sort of rude to you today, because they’re like that all the time with new kids. They were like that with me when I transferred. But I transferred in my freshmen year, and you’re a junior now, so maybe they’ll be better to you.” He explained.