haunted (S.M)

three

"We're not supposed to leave the group!" I giggle, running after the seventeen year old.

"Come on, no-one will even notice." He shouts back, smiling.

I reach him, as he comes to a halt. We've made our way from the outdoor retreat our school is at for the night, in to the forest surrounding the site. We hopped the fence and dived in to the mud, laughing like ten year old's. We fight the cold and slight unknown of the darkness, enjoying being with each other.

"I hate that my mum doesn't like me being around you anymore." I whisper to him, as we lean against an aged tree.

"I hate it too, but we have now." He whispers back, cuddling further in to my body.

The calm, serene silence is shattered by his sudden heavy breathing and shaking body.

"J-Jake? Jake? Talk to me." I begin to scream, noticing his eyes roll in to the back of his head and the white's of them almost light up the surrounding area.

I watch as his body convulses and shakes, my mind goes in to over drive. I feel my hands grip his coat and shake him even more: a meek attempt at trying to revive the love of my life.

"Jake?" I whisper, as his body suddenly stops shaking and becomes limp.

I can almost feel the life leave his body. Taking a part of mine with it.

I stare at my ceiling, it being utterly consumed by the night. I am uncomfortable and feel out of place here. Nothing feels quite right anymore. I turn to look at the picture residing on my bedside table. He stands next to me, his arm wrapped around my waist. I imagine the feeling again. His hold was so stable-he would never let me go unless he had to and I liked that. I liked being wanted by someone. A loud knock on my door causes me to lunge forward, my hand instinctively knocking the frame down as it reaches forward, in desperation, for something to hold. I curse under my breath, gently picking it up and placing it back in its original place. I yawn, walking towards my door. I open it to find no-one there. I confusedly look out and see the corridor empty and slightly eerie at this time of night. I go to walk back in but something catches my eye. I look to the floor and see a note:

'I'm really not that guy.

-S'

I look to both sides once again before crumpling it up in the palm of my hand, the paper cracking and crushing. I toss it to the ground with a careless attitude and walk back inside, slamming my door.

Simon:

I enter class, to see she is already here and sitting at the desk in front of mine. An unreadable look sits upon her face; she appears annoyed but her shaking hands give her away. I sit behind her. I nervously sit behind her. That's what she does to me. She makes me nervous. I feel uncomfortable. Not in a bad way. She makes me feel on edge and if I fall, there's a trampoline at the bottom and I will bounce right back up-I am never not on edge but don't feel afraid. I watch her throughout the lesson, not in a weird way, in an admiring-kind-of-way.

As the bell goes, she slowly packs away, I follow in suit since I'm made to put all the books away. She walks out in front of me, I only now notice she's dressed in a pair of rolled-up, denim jeans and a plain, navy t-shirt, which hangs on her small frame. A pair of black Vans sit on her feet and a brown bag hangs on her shoulder.

"Addie?" A voice shouts.

She turns and I find myself not reacting fast enough and walk in to her, she stumbles back but my hands catch her waist. She looks down to my hands before a mournful look etches its way on to her face.

"Sorry." She mumbles, before walking past and to the teacher who wanted her.

My hands stay clutching the air, her figure still there in my mind. I wonder about the look she gave me as I continue down the corridor. She didn't look mad, in fact she apologised to me, so she can't be that mad. But she looked sad. She doesn't seem the type who would be sad or the type who would show it, anyways.

Addie:

I walk in to the canteen, it being fairly empty apart from a few kids and older teenagers congregating with their friends. Something I clearly don't possess as I take a seat at a table near the back of the room. I take my notebook out and begin to doodle, waiting for the time to pass. I hear a chair scrape across the floor and look up to see Simon sitting across from me, an apologetic look on his face.

"Can I help you?" I tiredly ask, the sarcasm dripping from my voice like a tap that's been left on.

He sighs, "are you always defensive?"

"Are you always nosy?" I retort.

"It's not nosy to care." He states.

"Yeah, well-this conversation? I happen to not care about it, so if you don't mind-" I go to get up but he stops me.

"Actually, I do mind."

I look at him, narrowing my eyes at his calm demeanour.

"What do you want from me? To accept you're a really good guy and something hurt you in the past and that's why you're so mean and you want me to humour you? This isn't a fucking film Simon, I don't care about who you are, we aren't friends and I certainly don't want you telling me your fucking life story so please, just stop talking to me and leaving notes and whatever because I don't care." I angrily reply.

"I just want you to accept that you don't have to be a bitch to get respect." He shrugs.

"What did you just fucking call me?" I ask, stepping forward as he stands up and stands in front of me.

"Stop trying to act like you're bigger and better because you may see right through me, but I see right through you-you're sad and you're covering it up by trying to act like you have no feelings." He looks me in the eyes as he says this.

"You have no idea what you're talking about." I shake my head, going to walk away but he places his hand on my wrist gently.

"Stop lying." He meekly says.

I turn back, "I'm not your damsel in distress, I don't need your pity or your respect, I am no-one's problem."

His grip on me drops as I walk away.

I make sure to not turn back.