Under the Bridge

chapter eight- "i don't think leggings are his style"

TWO DAYS UNTIL I see Alec again. I'm supposed to say I'm excited, and I am, in a way. But I'm also nervous, and scared. I'm afraid my feelings are going to come back and they aren't going to go away. I don't want to look at him again, because I know the gates are going to open, and my emotions are going to flood in. 

It's Wednesday, the most melancholic day of the week, the middle of everything. You feel like the drag of life has been pulling on you forever, but then you realize it's another eternity until you're free from it. 

As you can see, the gears in my mind haven't been turning in a positive direction. 

It's raining, in fact, it's more like it's flooding. Water is pouring down the windows of the library, hail is beating against the glass windows, and thunder is booming in the sky, preceding bright flashes of lightning as the ground shakes. 

I normally love this kind of weather, but today, it feels like a drag. It reminds me of the feelings that are stirring in my stomach and the worry that has built up inside. 

At 4:30, the time this always ends, I toss my backpack over my shoulder and prepare myself for the cold droplets to hit my skin as I walk. 

"Do you want a ride home?" Liam asks, looking down at me. It surprises me, his voice sounds kind and sympathetic. He looks at the window, where the outside scene is blurred by the cesspool of water crashing against it. 

I shake my head. "I have a ride, it's fine." I lie, not wanting whatever weird pity he's offering my way. 

He looks at my suspiciously. "You walk home every day, I doubt you have one. The storm wasn't in the forecast." He sounds stern as he runs his fingers through his messy brown hair. I don't know why he cares, as he stated: we're not friends. 

"I'm fine, seriously." I say, tucking my book under my arm. "It doesn't matter." 

He sighs. "I'm not going to let you get fucking pneumonia, just come with me. I'm not gonna murder you." He says, loudly, earning a couple glares from the librarian. 

I reluctantly agree. 

* * *

"Take a left down here." I say, attempting to direct Liam to my house. His car is at least ten years old, with black chipping paint and a rap station playing on the radio. As I speak, he clicks on his turn signal--at least he's a safe driver, and he continues on the road. 

He looks at me. "There aren't houses down here for at least three miles, do you walk every day?" He asked, bewildered. 

I nod. "It's not that bad, and it keeps me in shape." I shrug, leaning back against the seat and keeping my eyes out the window. 

He purses his lips together, turning the wheel smoothly as we turned on the intersection. The windshield wipers are splashing the rain, and his headlights are the only thing that gave some sort of clarity on the empty road. 

"I'm sorry for being a dick to you." He muttered, under his breath. 

The words catch me off guard, and I freeze a little in my seat. "It's fine." I croak, quietly. I can't see him, but I can feel the nervous tension in the air. 

"No, it's not. I put the bad feelings I got from my failing grade on you, and I'm a dick." He said, louder. "Why didn't you ever yell at me? You should've." 

I sink more into the leather backed seat, wrapping my arms more around myself. "Seriously, I don't care." I lie, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I don't know why you do."