And then the whispers began.
They were loud and I knew he could hear every single one, I knew they were piercing his soul like bulllets just like they used to do to me and it made me feel nautious.
Clint still had his eyes closed tightly, and he covered his face with his hands and laid his head down onto the table and made muffled sounds and I didn't quite know what was going on.
The others at the table stared blankly into shock and I tilted my head down and eyed my food which didn't look very appealing right now.
I could hear the tap of his feet behind me as he walked to our table, and sat down like it was no big deal, like he'd been here every day and we were his best friends and placed his back pack onto the floor, furrowing his eyebrows at everyone.
"Hey," He said coldly and no one dared to peek an eye at him. I didn't either, even though it was a terribly tempting ordeal, I kept my focus clear onto the paint coiling off the table and would scrape it with my finger-nail every so often to somehow descrease the tension.
"Hey!" One of the boys spat after what felt like an infinity and got up from the table, turning his back to us and walking from the room.
The boy frowned at the table and crossed his arms across his chest.
I sat stiff, I didn't move or blink and wished that I could coat myself in invisable paint and disappear. And then Clint made another sound, something like a sob or whimper, and Foster rolled his eyes, almost in disgust, "Are you serious? God, are you fucking crying?"
The silence crept into my bones and turned them to jelly and I wished I could leave like the other boy because I really didn't want to stay here; in the middle of this, but I didn't want to call attention to myself. That was the last thing I wanted, so I tried so difficultly not to flinch and I was itching to clear my throat, but the air was toxic, infused with hate and vemon and it paralyzed me and told me not to breathe too loudly.
In the end, my stillness failed and I could feel Foster's eyes on me and Clint's faultering breathing made my nerves go into a craze.
"So what... Is she my replacement?" He growled so loudly that it turned a few heads and I swallowed.
"I thought you were dead.." Clint mutters into his sleeves.
"Yeah, well," he runs a hand through his hair and struggles with his words, "not anymore."
YOU ARE READING
Darling & Foster
Teen Fiction"I would kill to be skinny," She would always cross her arms and say. So she did what she said, she went killing, but the only person she was killing, was herself. //COMPLETED//
