T.R.I.G.G.E.R

T.R.I.G.G.E.R - #24

Tucker

Saturday marked one of the best nights I've had in years.

Not because of that blonde chick. It was because of Jackie.

She sat with me for hours and we just talked about anything we thought of.

It was just like when we were younger. Jackie was being herself with me.

She wasn't boxing herself up and hiding from me like last week.

She laughed until tears would spring from her eyes, and smiled when she talked about things that make her happy.

She's coming back.

I saw it when she joked along with me for the first time in a long time. My dork is coming back.

Slowly but she's getting there, and it couldn't make me happier that I have something to do with it.

I was so eager to see her again, that I got up early today so I wouldn't miss a second of seeing her face.

I'm waiting at her locker now, and I'm pretty sure I look like a creep to some people. I don't care, though. They aren't the ones that I come here for.

"Tucker?" Someone calls me. A familiar someone, that I wish I could get rid of, to be exact.

Ignoring the annoying voice, I pull my hood over my head and turn my back to the bratty looking brunette.

I can hear the demanding snap of her six inch pumps as she walks in my direction.

I know it so well. Her personality, is so predictable, that I can tell what shoes she's wearing just by the rhythm in which they clack against the hard tile.

They, indeed, are pumps. Most probably black because she's got a little leisure in her step patterns. Black makes her feel inferior, like she's on a runway and everyone else around her is dirt in comparison.

She's probably caked her face in makeup, and went an extra mile to put highlights in her hair to make her look like more of an angel than she actually is.

Her nails were undoubtedly done at some nail salon; french tips, and she most likely is carrying around a new handbag.

All of this, I get from the simple rhythm of her steps.

Then they stop. Which means that, she's reached her target.

Which, of course, was me.

"I've already seen your face, doll." Her voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard to me. "Where were you Friday? Skipping school?"

I sighed and hesitantly turned around to stare into the eyes of Satan's daughter.

"Fuck off, Shannon." I cross my arms over my chest nonchalantly, and give her a bored expression.

"Aww," Shannon's face fell into a fake pout, and she took a step closer. "Does the big bad Tucker, have a big bad attitude?"

She snickered and rolled her eyes. "I'd watch what comes out of that mouth of yours, sweetheart. Wouldn't want the cops finding out about your little...job? Do we?"

I grit my teeth. "I don't give a shit, Shannon. Do what you want."

She took another step toward me, until our noses almost touched. Then she pulled on that filthy smirk that shows how full of her self she really is.

"You know, Tucker," she whispered and ran her index finger along my forearm. "I love how adamant you are about keeping up your façade, respect to you.