mascara // m.c.

2 // panic.

things never changed in michael's world. he loved to escape into his head, because no matter how much changed in the real world, things were always the same in his imagination.

there, the same thing always happened. he was sitting on the bus, the girl next to him him, leaning against the window. he'd done it. he was sitting beside her. and when she reached her stop, he found himself holding onto her hand.

and the look of bewilderment would cross her face, and he loved that, he loved every second that he could look at her face.

he still wasn't sure what colour her eyes were, but in his head, they were hazel, a glowy hazel that sparkled when the sun passed her face.

the way her 'hazel' eyes watched him made his bones chill. in his head, she'd slide back into the seat and rest her head on his shoulder, her red hair spilling across his chest. they didn't need anyone else.

he wished it could've been that way in reality, but it always was the same. but not the same he wanted.

on the bright monday morning, he was getting on the bus. the usual people showed up. but michael waited. and waited. there was no sign of the girl with the hair like stained glass in the sunlight, with the mascara in her tote bag, ready to pull out and glide on, stopping so as not to mess it up when the bus hit a bump.

now, michael didn't know what to do. it had never been like this before. everything was different. he paid attention to everyone else now.

the old lady in the brown loafers, who refused to take any seat offered to her. the skinhead, who was gentler than anyone would've given credit for, ready to offer seats to those who needed them more.

the teenage girl with the loud headphones, who listened to rock music. when the bus went quiet, all that could be heard was the canned singing of a young man, with guitar riffs in the background and solid drumming.

after acknowledging all these people, the next stop arrived. there was still no sign of the girl with the red hair, and michael felt a wave of panic wash over him. what if something had happened? she was always covered in bruises, maybe something bad had happened. and michael had knowingly let her get away.

he began to imagine the worst case scenarios, which made him sick to his stomach. the girl with the red hair was not very pretty, but still attractive in a unique way. the thought of her possibly being incapacitated made him gag.

the next stop, the teenage girl got off, taking her music with her. and then there it was. the flash of red hair, like stained glass in the sunlight. michael felt shivers run down his spine looking at her, as well as relief washing over him.

he watched as she, slightly more tense than usual, frantically searched for a seat. there were none. they were either full or half full, and michael knew the girl well enough to know no one wanted to sit near her.

courage. michael had always felt like he'd had it, but today it felt different.

"hey," he called, and she looked up, startled. "you can sit here."