A warm tingly feeling grows deeply in the pit of my stomach and shines in the middle of my blackened heart day's after meeting Jasmine. With her, I don't have to feel self-conscious about my epilepsy, about myself really or any of my problems. In some way, we're both equal- and most likely, both rejects. Oddly, when I'm around her, I have this nagging sensation of trustworthiness. Like I could tell her anything and everything. The once deflated bubble that looms in my chest now expands to the size of a grapefruit-not yet enough for my chest to swell with love, happiness, and friendship. But still.
But there's more important things to worry about, my mom. The thing that disgusts me the most. The creature on this crappy-excuse as a planet with no heart whatsoever. With such blackness and hatred in her soul that even floppy rabbits couldn't heal. No matter how floppy they are. The beast that's coming tomorrow to "visit." Most likely, "visiting" to give the crappy child money to Dad-like paying the pizza man money without receiving the pizza. And I'm the pizza.
My glow stick fan swirls in dizzying blue and orange circles as I lay on my bed writing a journal entry in my journal I got 4 days ago from Roy's, with head phones cushioning my ears with their plushiness and softening an upcoming mental- breakdown with Paramore.
But I have to confront this problem: how to act when Mom comes over tomorrow. What do I even say? What do I- do? Do I act like an angel or a demonic buttface? These things are so confusing to me.
A knock interrupts my slow-moving train of thought at my door swinging open and peering inside is Dad. His eyebrows are up to his hairline, a sign of his utter confusion.
"Honey? There's... someone at the door. For you?" He said each word slowly and softly, each word coming out of his puckered lips as a question. So yeah, even my dad doesn't have faith in my social skills.
But the more important question is: Who has come to see me?
Jasmine doesn't know where I live, but a certain somebody does...
***
My jaw is on the floor, just a crack of a bone away from unhinging my jaw. I drool all over Joby's smirking face, but I snap my mouth closed before any more can leak. I can feel the tightness of Dads muscles behind me, instantly going in to super-Dad mode- a time in life where he threatens to pull out his gun and shoot anyone, guys in particular, if they broke me and my heart.
I mutter to him, "Dad, it's ok. Just, shoo, so we can talk, alright?" I use my midget hands and shove him more harshly than I meant to towards the hall, towards the room, and don't start talking until I hear his door close.
"So." He says.
"So."
We both smile, Joby pulls his hand back- arm folding into a mishaped triangle- and almost rubs the skin off the back of his neck. He sighs, exasperated.
"Gable- er, Bagel, sorry, look. I don't know about you, but I'm big on second chances. So I was just wondering if we- you know. Could maybe start over?" His eyebrows arch and he pitches me an awkwardly pushy smile.
I can't help but giggle.
"Why would you, Jacoby Winters, want to talk to me? An epileptic girl who's socially awkward and dresses like a hobo? Hm? Because right now, I'd really like to know..." I cock my head and cover my smirk with my cupped hand that's covered with the outstretched sleeve of my jacket.
He starts, black curls bobbing with every tilt of his head, his index finger pointing pragmatically at the ceiling.
"Well- uh, you're nice? No that's not it..." He searches my face with a look of wonder as he tries to summon the word to describe this mess going on called Bagel Marrow.
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Teen Fiction// "And in those small moments, holding him was the only thing that mattered, because the world felt far too big and I was hopelessly lost." // After her alcoholic mom left their family 12 years ago without a real reason, homeschooled Gable Marrow...
