Bad Reputation; Shawn Mendes

11. Parents

"Well this could've gone a whole different way don't you think?"

•••

America.

The clouds started to pool in causing the sky to look gloomy. I loved the weather like this, it just made the day better. Then the air smelled like it was going to rain.

Shawn drove away from the school leaving behind all the drama that had filled the day. That wasn't surprising but what was surprising was that the golden boy was ditching. I mean he was the guy with the good grades and followed the rules.

We had the windows of the Jeep rolled down. It let in the cool winds in and it blew through my hair. Shawn laughed at the fact that my hair was blowing in every direction. He turned up the radio and we sang to every song that played.

It was nice, to just feel normal, to sit next to someone and them not want something from you. To just sing and be free and not be constantly reminded of how fucked up you are.

We soon arrived at a house I'd never seen before. He pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. He opened his door and then ran to open mine.

When he did I got out with my bag in hand. He shut the door after I got out and we walked towards the front door of the house. I then realized it must've been his I mean it'd be weird if it wasn't.

He took a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door. He opened it up and allowed me to walk in first. I walked into the warm house and seen the nicely decorated home. It had such a warm family feel to it, something I distantly remembered my home feeling like.

"So my parents aren't home and you said you were feeling sticky." Shawn said as he closed the front door.

I looked at him with a raised eyebrow, "Oh is this your way of getting me alone? The whole my parents aren't home line." I asked.

He then realized what he said and his cheeks got red.

"No that's not what I meant I just figured you'd want to take a shower or something." He said suddenly looking nervous again.

I put my hand on his shoulder, "Shawn, I'm joking jeez. I'm hardly ever serious."

He then led me to the stairs, "And why is that?" He asked.

I shrugged, "Guess it's a defense mechanism. When I'm hurt or in a awkward situation I become sarcastic or joke around. Showing people I played it off." I confessed.

We got to a door and he looked at me with this sad look. The one I hated seeing, I hated it more than being glared at. Hated it more than anything.

When I got bullied no one gave me that look. When I was being accused of things I said I didn't no one ever gave me that look. No one ever cared then, so when I tell people now and they give me that pity look it upset me.

"Please don't feel sorry for me." I told him as I walked past him and he opened the door.

I walked into the room, it had white walls and wooden floors. The rest of his furniture was a nice light brown. He had many books on the shelves and pictures all around his walls.