Blue Mirth

Beautiful

           

How Would You Feel - Ed Sheeran

A/N:

Drumroll Please

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Ivy Lisa

They'd let me out two days ago. They said there was a guy in a tux that had come to see me. John? Before I could ask who, they rushed to get more tests done, to make sure I was okay. I was. They said I'd have a mild headache for at least four days, but after that, everything will be fine. I believed them. The tests took a long time, but I was free to go by late night.

They insisted that I stay an additional day, just to be sure.

But I declined.

I had work to get done.

A Prom to go to.

People to talk to.

Him.

*********

The food looks like it came right out of MasterChef US. I can't help but ogle it. There are people crowding around me, obviously impressed by the exquisite spread too. My eyes travel to the drinks. I haven't had anything to quench my thirst since yesterday. I see red punch, bottles of champagne, soda cans and regular fruit juice. There is no way in this universe that I'm going to take the champagne. I'm not even going to touch it. The punch could be pretty toxic, too. You can't trust anyone at these events, and I'd decided a long time ago that I'd had enough fun for a lifetime. I glance at the soda cans and juices. My throat longs for something strong and bubbly. Coke sounds like the right drink for me right now. Besides, I haven't drunk it since, well, I don't really remember. With John. Ages ago. I pick up the can and try to open it. My nails prevent this.

Not that I really care, but my nails took a really, really long time to dry. The woman who did them for me looked so pleased with the result, I promised her I wouldn't let anything happen to them. So, not for me, but for her, I'm going to protect these fake-nails with my life. I stare at the can, trying to figure out how I'm going to drink the black, sparkly substance inside it, when a hand wraps around my arm, just below my elbow. I have my back to this person – it's a boy, judging by the strong built of his veiny hands – so I don't know who it is for the first few seconds. His hold is too strong to be comfortable. I turn my head slowly, expecting it to be the person I hate the most, because, who else would grab my arm this hard? But no. It's not Luke. This boy has brown eyes, and a strong jaw. His nose is thin and shaped, his hair forever messy. It's John Kenneth.

I don't know what comes over me. I must've let go of the can I was holding. I must've looked really stupid. I must've startled John. But a moment later, my arms are holding him close, and his hands are on my waist, the pressure of them making me bite my lip so I don't scream. Why is he holding me like that? It kind of hurts. "John, you're squishing me.", I whisper into his ear, standing on my toes to reach it. It's just now that I realise that he's really tall. Not tall in an obnoxious, giant way, just taller than I remember. Maybe I didn't notice his height before. As we're hugging, I can pin-point exactly where my head reaches when I stand next to him. His chin rests comfortably on top of my head, my face in his neck. Even with heels on, I can only rest my forehead on his chin. No more, no less. My body tingles where his hands are. And I find myself thinking: This is perfect.

"I'm sorry, but I don't care right now.", he whispers back, snapping me out of my daydream. Huh? "Wha-?", I start to say, but he interrupts me.

"Okay, how does that feel?"

He loosened his grasp. Now he's holding my waist like you hold a stack of novels. With both of your hands wide open, as if you're going to drop your books. He's holding me like I'm something delicate. Like I'm made of glass and if he applies too much pressure, I might break. It's not bad. In fact, I kind of like it.