Seventeen

Chapter Three : Us

"What's the square root of three hundred and fifty-eight?" Sebastian asked, his finger tracing a math problem on a worn-out page of his textbook, the paper frayed and yellowed at the edges.

Time's relentless march hadn't touched him yet. His hair, still neatly combed back in that way I used to find charming, glimmered under the soft light of the room. His eyes, deep and soulful, seemed to harbor a couple of angels-disheveled and broken-winged, their melancholy reflected in the shadows beneath his gaze. He wore a blue oversized T-shirt emblazoned with the NASA logo, paired with khaki shorts that fell just below his knees. His freakishly long legs were crossed casually on the bed, but I couldn't focus on him. I perched at the edge, pretending to absorb the lesson, yet my mind drifted like a leaf on a turbulent stream, caught in a whirlpool of thoughts about Aiden. Aiden and his stinging words. Why did he have to say what he did? Even if they were true, they cut deep-poison seeping into my veins, slowly killing whatever light remained in me.

"Earth to Andy." Sebastian waved his hand in front of my face, his brow creased with what I hoped was genuine concern. "What's got you all zoned out?"

I stared at a blank spot on the wall, my thoughts a chaotic mess. The same dull floral wallpaper clung to the walls, the same Spiderman curtains fluttering slightly in the breeze. The familiar scent of paint lingered, mingling with the dust of forgotten dreams. His guitar, still occupying its designated corner, seemed to beckon me with silent melodies of a past that felt like a distant dream.

"Do you still play?" I asked, my eyes drawn to the beauty of the guitar, its polished wood glinting in the light. It was perfect, larger than mine, and memories flooded back-Sebastian strumming chords that once wormed their way into my soul, anchoring me in moments of joy. But then, like everything else, that music faded away, lost when I lost my way.

"Yes. A bit." His eyes fell to the floor, avoiding mine. I wanted to know why, but the words hung heavy in the air, unasked and unanswered.

"I'm sorry." My voice was barely above a whisper. As I spoke, I felt the weight of the past pressing down on me. My gaze dropped, burning holes into the brown mat beneath us.

"For what?" he asked, looking up, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

"For letting them beat you up that day. I could have helped you, but I didn't." The admission slipped from my lips like a secret I'd held for far too long. It happened three years ago-a brutal scene etched into my memory. The cool kids, those self-proclaimed rulers of the school, had surrounded him, taunting and pushing. I stood frozen, a coward among the crowd, laughing along as they struck him down. The next day, we fought, words laced with bitterness. He called me a bad friend, and I told him he was being weak. We were both wrong, and time had since carried us away, like leaves caught in a gust of wind.

"It's cool," Sebastian said, his tone dismissive as he flipped through the pages of his textbook, eyes trained on the words as if they held the answers to questions I couldn't articulate. I couldn't shake the feeling that I disgusted him. Why wouldn't he look at me?

"I hope we can be friends again." The words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered. I didn't know if I was saying this out of desperation or a genuine longing for connection. Either way, I could use a friend right now, someone to anchor me in this storm.

"I don't do friends anymore." He turned the page with a resolute finality, slipping into a businesslike demeanor. "Let's do this exercise on square roots to see what you've learned so far today."

The only thing I'd learned was that isolation clung to me like a second skin, and I was destined to die alone. "I have to go."

His sad gray eyes fixated on me, a flicker of disappointment crossing his features. "Why? We haven't done much yet."