Smile of Bitter Red

Chapter 9

1

I haven't had a good night sleep in days. I haven't had to be more protective of myself and Blake in weeks. I haven't felt pain like this in years other than the time when I've broke my finger in fourth grade. But the worst of all, I haven't felt more scared for my life in my entire life. I mean I haven't had anything to do but fight for the past two weeks. There is a difference from not being happy and being truly terrified because when your not happy your probably just upset because some other guy just stole your girl. But to be terrified is like fearing everything just like paranoia, but just less gruesome and mentally hard on yourself. I try and try very hard to take my mind off this tremendous amount of horror but just like a time loop I just end up at the same place I was before constantly. "Hey what year do you think we'll get married?" Blake asked unexpectedly and is just another piece of pressure that's put on my shoulders "uuuh...married?" I say hesitantly with a very obvious questionable tone in my voice. I honestly hoped that this question was to never come out of her mouth because realistically about ninety nine percent of the people you meet in high school you'll never have to see again. But marriage that is something I dearly want but I just don't want to talk about it in high school because no man thinks about marriage during high school in less you do one of two things. You either (one) have a child in high school or (two) your just in a supposed true love (a.k.a. tainted love) ."Well what year?" Blake asks once again. My for head and palm begins to sweat nervously. Nobody likes being asked this question because it's hard as hell to answer and it's a pain in the ass to not look glad to answer the question. I wipe my damp hands on my dirty jeans and wipe my fourhead as a sweat droplet makes it's way down the side of my face and to the bottom of my chin. I take a big gulp at the back of my throat as I prepare myself to respond to the question. "Sa-sa-six ye-years maybe" I say with an even bigger stutter in my voice as I feel like I just up and have a wrong answer. Blake stares at me in a annoyed manner as I can't help but prepare for the silent treatment. I'm so fucked, will I get the silent treatment or a swift kick in the ass I thought to myself as I'm scared a lot more then ever. I feel even more screed than what I've been going through for the past week in a half or so. I take a deep breath and Blake just up and shoulder shrugged as she really didn't care (but she cared). I feel as if it's that thing everyone does where they make it look like they don't care but inside they feel like an emotional human being and there just making there physical look and their emotions look like a complete contradiction. I grabbed Blake hand in a great deal of sympathy and try to interlock our fingers again but she refused to even put off a little squeeze or didn't have any attempt to even interlock the fingers. Well I tried its just nobody is ready for any sort of commitment such as marriage as a child. I begin to weaken the grip on Blake's hand, and then after like a minute and a half our hands lost connection and both of our arms just sundered away from each other and hit the side of our hips. My hands are still sweaty but my for head is becoming less sweaty by the minute. From time to time I wonder what's on Blake's mind whether if she's calling me an asshole or one stupid looking motherfucker. But its still something I would like to know about because every now and then I'll need personal feedback or i'll just continue being that same pain in the ass. The day begins to grow dark as I'm becoming more aggressive every minute and second. I wish I still had that ax or revolver because then we would've had something to at least defend ourselves with, but since we don't all we are is two sitting ducks just waiting to get hunted by the numerous predators we have. Pressure is for those who can't stand being in control I thought about that one quote that my parents would tell me before every single football game for the past ten years. I use to think of it as a thing I would usually live by, but now it's just something I would tell myself if I've got myself into a high pressure situation. I take a good look up at Blake's back and I can see the cut from the hole in the jacket and it looked terrible. It had a steep black outline with a greenish-yellow color of what I believe is puss, and a little mixture with blood. That cut was as bad as a straight guy watching gay porn. Her back looked like a deformed, rusty engine. I understand a vehicle and a human being are two separate things but it's honestly that bad. "Hey Blake how does your back feel?" I asked as I'm concerned for Blake's well being
"It feels fine, why?"
"Umm...it looks bad ;bad I mean it looks terrible" I told Blake with a little freaked out excitement in my voice. That then triggered something in my mind ;ever since I saw that fifty shades of fucked up cut I remembered my shoulder. I take my shirt off as care fully​ as I could so I don't hurt myself by accident. As I take it off slowly Blake just stops as she's thinking something related to What the fuck are you doing. I'm not horny right now. I look at my shoulder and I stair at it in complete shock. My shoulder looks like it has a gigantic pimple on it. Blake stairs at my arm in disgust with her jaw dropped and her eyes widened. We could both see the black on the top forming black head and a little bit of yellowish-green color showing the puss. I get a disgusted look on my face and a tear drop comes to my eye in fear as I know I have the pop it or else I'm probably going to just be screwed. Blake closes her eyes quickly as it scared and disgusted her simotaneously. I grab a sharp twig off the ground and my heart beat grows louder, faster as if it was a drum. My hand begins to shiver in fright as I'm thinking of stabbing the pimple that looked like a full size pitchers mound.