Puddles

Hello

"Hello." The person that the voice belonged to spat out the word, as though it took every ounce of their being to even acknowledge me. 

I open my mouth, but no words came out. All those years that I pondered what I would say to them if we ever met dissipated, once on the tip of my tongue now stuck in my throat, and an overpowering sense of fear took over my whole being, seizing my courage like a vice, its death grip unrelenting. 

She stood, hands on her hips and an eyebrow raised. I raised my arm, holding my hand straight out, as though I were going to slap her. And I wanted to. I wanted to slap her, if it could only give her even an ounce of the pain I went through. My brain raced, realizing where I was, and who I was about to actually speak to, and everything in my mind came to a standstill. 

If this were a Shakespearian play, this is the time where I would have an aside, and talk to an audience. But this is real life, not a play, especially not one written by a famous dead guy. My mind commanded me to open my mouth, and words rolled off the tip of my tongue, coming as a shock to me. "You're seriously going to talk to me like that? Do you know who I am? Do you know who I've become, what I've accomplished? No you don't. Wait, I'll have someone explain it to you." I say, and look at a random guy. 

He was wearing a green T-shirt, and wearing khakis. He was tall, and held a cup of Starbucks coffee in his hand, phone held up to his ear. I snapped my fingers, half feeling guilty for disrupting his call, but when he saw me, he said a couple of hurried words, and hung up, sliding his phone in his pocket, walking over to us quickly, an excited grin on his face. 

I plastered on my most dazzling smile, and stuck out my hand, which he promptly took, shaking our hands. His eyes were alight with a dazzling happiness, it was infectious, and I couldn't help but feel my mood brighten a little thanks to this stranger. "Hello sir, I am—"

I got cut off quickly by him. "I know who you are!' I raised an eyebrow, smiling slightly at him. 

"Really now? Would you care to inform this...person, who I am?" I ask, eyeing the girl standing to my side with a disgusted look on my face, as though she were a piece of gum on the bottom of my shoe. 

"Why of course, although, I don't know how anyone could not know who you are, but whoever doesn't must certainly be living under a rock, or without any wifi!" He exclaimed laughing, and I allowed myself to chuckle along with him, glancing over to my side, and seeing an embarrassed look on the girls face, her cheeks flushed pink. 

"This is the CEO of the best company in the world, she brings the turn for all nations, it's why we have finally reached world peace." He said, a condescending tone in his voice. 

I turned to her, and dismissed the guy, who walked away, pulling out his phone. A triumphant smirk was on my face, as I now had the upper hand. The girl I had once liked, the girl who broke my heart, she had almost made me give up on myself, on my own future, and as much as my heart begged me to forgive this girl for an unknown reason, I refused. I would not. She was the reason I almost let my whole self to slip away, almost losing the will to live...I could never forgive her for that, and I hope that she burns. 

"I...I..." She stuttered, looking at her shoes. 

"You what?" I asked. "You're sorry? Hah, like I would ever be able to forgive you. You know what you did to me all those years ago, when you unexpectedly blocked me on all forms of social media? I almost lost my will to live. Do you know what that's like? Do you know what it's like to walk every day thinking you've done something wrong, that you don't deserve love because you opened up to someone you allowed yourself to love?" I demanded, my eyes narrowing as I glared at her, a mixture of hatred an pain seeping in my eyes. 

She looked at me, astonished. "No. You don't. Everything was handed on a silver plate for you. Your family had money that you could spend willy nilly, and they never let you give up. Boys and girls chased after you, each wanting you. I was another face in the crowd, another heart for you to play with. And as soon as I opened up, you left. It was unwanted territory for you, and you wanted out. So, you resorted to cutting me down, calling me toxic and lowering my self esteem. That was abuse, and you know what I could do about that now?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow at her, waiting for an answer. 

"What?" She whispered, her tone sad and defeated. A pang of guilt sliced through me before anger came back. 

"I could have you arrested." I stated simply, looking at my short nails. 

She glanced at me, her eyes wide with panic. "It would be my word against yours, and well, even if I were lying, which we both know I'm not, everyone would believe me. They know most of my past. No one knows you, so they would immediately side with me." I continued, holding back the urge to laugh. 

"But of course, I will not." I hear a sigh of relief. "After all, I do have to thank you. If it weren't for you making me want to die, I wouldn't be here, I would be a nobody, just like you." I said, turning my head back to her, my back straight. 

Anger flitted through the girls face, replaced by sorrow. "Oh, no. You don't get to feel sad. Not after all this time. Not after what you did to me." I spat at her, metaphorical flames burning inside of me. 

She reached out a hand toward me, and I flinched. A fear ran through me. Had I crossed some sort of line, and she was about to hit me. I felt something warm on my cold hand, and looked down. Her hand was on mine. I quickly snatched my hand away, rubbing it self consciously. I wasn't used to that kind of warmth, I hadn't felt it in a long time. I hadn't felt a loving touch since her, and I didn't want her hand to spark something in me. 

Because after all I've been through, I'm still broken. And far from repaired. 

A/N~ I know I haven't updated this in a while, and I know it's still an English project, meaning I probably should update, but, I had writers block. Well, that and I suppose there was something holding me back from writing, as though I would say something wrong and ruin my chances of becoming a published author. I don't know anymore. After the Parkland shooting, nothing has been the same for me, and I wake up every day feeling even more tired than the day before, despite the number of hours of sleep I get.