Colors (bxb) [DISCONTINUED]

mess

By the way, because I don't know exactly where to add it in the chapter without messing up the flow of things, just know that the truck they're in is not Mason's. It's one of his Senior friends.

That is all. Happy reading!

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"My friends and I have problems."

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"Feelin' comfy?" Mason asks, smirking at me through the small mirror on the ceiling of the vehicle.

I roll my eyes, trying to ignore the Cheeto crumbs under my butt. I'm not comfortable at all. This truck is so ugly that even I'm embarrassed to be riding inside of it; it's tan, scratched to unimaginable degrees, and makes a weird sound when Mason turns on the engine. And don't even get me started on the inside; wrappers and crumbs litter the place, and a disorienting smell invades my nose.

I already want to get out - but the alternative is going back inside the school, and that is a thought that I don't even want to entertain.

"Just great," I mumble, leaning my elbow on the door.

"Are you sure?"

"Yep."

"Serious? We don't have to-"

"Can we just get the hell out of here?" I interrupt, my voice rising in irritation. I scowl at Mason, while he just gives me another cheeky smile. "Stop being a patronizing asshole and just drive, okay? Before an administrator sees us."

He snorts, but abides to my commands. Almost like a pro, Mason changes gears and backs out of the parking spot, before changing gears once again and zooming out of the parking lot. In seconds, we pass through the gates of the school, so fast that the lady on guard doesn't even have the chance to stop us.

I stare at her astonished expression as we bound down the road. If I didn't feel like my entire life was falling apart, I'd laugh. But humor doesn't have a place in my cold, desolate body. The main residents are Depression, Misery, and Hopelessness. The rent for any other emotion is far too much to pay.

"I think you need to start trusting people more," Mason suddenly says, his eyes straight on the road ahead. "You need to start trusting me more, at least. I'm not all bad."

I'm the one to snort this time. "People are shitty. You're shitty. I don't even know why you're doing this right now."

"Maybe because I'm actually not so shitty?"

"Maybe." For some reason, my mouth continues to move, even though the words that I want to say are way too pitiful to greet the earth. "You're probably better than my friends, at least . . ."

A meaningful silence overtakes the vehicle. Mason keeps his green eyes on the road, but I can clearly see one them glancing towards me in the mirror. The question on his face is easy to decipher: Do you want to talk about it, or what? And no, I don't want to talk about my so-called friends and the fact that they didn't follow me out of the classroom. I don't want to talk about my so-called friends and the fact that not a single text has been sent my way. I don't want to talk about my so-called friends and the fact that they just sincerely don't care about me.

I don't want to talk about it.

But inwardly, I think that I do.

Mason suddenly reaches out with one hand and turns on the radio, while he uses the other hand to keep us on the road. Good, I think, looking out the window again. Fill the silence.