Cyan Sleeves

Hiding Away

Because of readership on FrameCast (And the fact that this seems to be the only place people can read my story) I am uploading the next 6 chapters today. From chapter 8 forward, however, I am still fleshing out Oz's story, trying to piece it all together, and so I may be slower on uploads.

Note that from here on, there will be graphic depictions of violence. Discretion is advised.

The rest of the day passed by like a blur. It didn't even feel like it was taking place – one second, I was in school, and the next I was walking out of the doors, ready to board the bus. Not even the electives I had chosen, like cooking and Spanish, had an effect on me. Instead, I chose to let myself blank out, and it felt like time had simply skipped me for the last three hours.

It was only a small blessing for me.

Ochre made it onto the bus before I did, sitting where she had been for the last two days. I sat under the heater, not saying a word to greet her. I could feel her eyes darting towards me once in a while, but I kept my own stare trained on the ground. For some reason, I found the wad of chewing gum on the floor more entertaining to look at. At the very least, the floor was easier to think about.

The girl cut the silence with her words. "Oz, are you okay?"

I couldn't find it in me to respond to her question. After all, she should get used to my silence.

"Did I say something wrong? Please tell me. I can fix it."

"No, and no. You can't fix it." So much for keeping my stupid mouth shut.

She inhaled through her teeth. "Your eyes are red and puffy... something bad has happened to you, hasn't it? I'm sor—"

"Ochre, has it ever occurred to you that any time anything happens to me, it's probably bad?" I turned my face up to meet hers. I could see the outside world reflecting off of her glasses. Outside, the snow was falling again, like always.

"Anything good that comes to me in my life gets taken away. I don't get to have good things. In the rare case that I find anything that works out for me, or someone that understands me, I lose them faster than they came. And 'sorry'?" I laughed bitterly.

"'Sorry' doesn't change anything. No matter how many times someone reminds me that this is a 'learning experience', nothing changes. All I've learned is that apologies aren't worth a damn thing." I was too exhausted emotionally to glare at her, so instead I narrowed my eyes to try and accentuate my point.

I quickly realized how much I regretted the angry words. Ochre didn't deserve me lashing out, and cussing at her. She didn't do anything wrong.

Yet, I had dug my grave. After all, what was the point in telling her 'sorry' after saying that? I tried reading her expression: anger, confusion, and sadness were all present, staring me in the face. Still, she was completely undaunted by what I could only describe as a temper tantrum, as embarrassing as it was to call it that. She didn't look away for a second, choosing to let her silence say what it needed to.

"You screwed up."

My face went slack, as I quit looking at her. That didn't stop her, though. I knew well that she could stay upset for hours on end, and keep the room as cold as she felt. It was like a scary, deadly superpower of hers.

"Ochre..." I tried.

"Isn't that your stop?" She pointed out the window, without moving her eyes from mine. I turned around and looked in the direction she was pointing towards. The sidewalk leading to my house was steadily approaching us, although I hadn't noticed it until the last second.