Psychotic Kids

Chapter 10: Burn

Chapter 10: Burn

Isla

I don't know why I kissed him.

It was so risky. What if he just pushed me away? We did it in front of so many people... what if they recognised us? He's just so perfect. When he kissed me, I knew he felt the same way, at least in that moment.

I adjust my orange beanie. A little kid has already complimented it and some old man told both of us that our hair is 'outrageous', so I think we're doing great.

We're sitting at a bench just outside the mall. The car is still in the carpark, which probably isn't the most risk-free option but I'm happy here.

"You cold?" Peter asks me. I squirm a bit.

"It's a billion degrees," I reply, bluntly.

"I know, but..." His voice trails off, "Isla, you've been quiet ever since we kissed. Are you ok?"

I'm quiet for a moment, "Yeah, I'm fine," Neither of us are looking at one another, both just staring blankly at nothing in front of us, clearly deep in thought.

"Do..." He turns his head to look at me, "Do you regret it?"

I shrug, still looking ahead. He looks down. I feel a bit bad because I don't regret it. Not at all.

"I'm sorry," He offers.

"Don't be,"

"But I am,"

"Why?"

He looks up at me. I look at him. I see the sadness in his eyes. He thinks I don't like him.

"We should go," he murmurs, standing up and walking towards the parking lot.

The car ride is silent. I keep having to blink back tears, so he doesn't see me cry. I hate it when I cry in front of people. It makes me want to jump out a window.

"Here?" He speaks up after a long ride. I look up. We're in the middle of nowhere, just as planned. I nod quietly and we get out of the car.

"Do you wanna do it?" Peter asks me, handing me a lit match. I take the match, "How is this gonna work without gasoline?" He walks behind the car and opens the boot, revealing a red container of gasoline.

I watch silently as he pours it all over the car, inside and out. He chucks the empty canister into a bush and hands me a second match. I throw it at the car, the flames instantly illuminating our faces in the dark. Peter begins walking away, "C'mon," he instructs. I follow after him.

After a while, we make it to a deserted dirt road. It's getting cooler and I rip my beanie off my head to fix my messed-up hair, "I'm sorry," I apologise.

I don't know what he does since it's so dark, but I have a feeling he's still looking straight ahead like he usually does. "Peter?"

I hear him sigh in the black, "it's whatever. Are you tired? I'm tired," I squirm a bit and I don't know why, "Yeah, I guess I am. We should walk for a bit longer before we stop, though,"

"Ok,"

"Ok,"

For a moment it's quiet. For a moment I don't feel like I've done anything wrong... but I know I have.

"Peter?" I unknowingly say.

"Yeah?"

I swallow hard. I don't know what I'm about to say.

"I like you," I spit out.

Oh my god. What did I just do? What if he doesn't like me back and he just kissed me because he was bored? What if he leaves me here, just like my mum and grandma did?

I bite my lip nervously. The seconds feel like hours. Maybe I should say sorry. He probably doesn't like me back. No, he wouldn't. I'm just some psychotic kid. Then again, so is he.

"I like you too," He whispers.

"What?"

I feel my heart beating out of my chest. This can't be real. My hair looks awful, I'm skinny, my eyebrows are thick, and my nose is really long. There's no way he could like me.

"I like you too,"

I feel like I'm about to throw up. He must be lying. No doubt about it, he doesn't like me. He's probably just messing with my head. That's what boys do, right?

"Isla?" He whispers.

"Y-yes?" I choke.

He chuckles, "You ok?"

I don't know what to say. I'm kinda just standing there, shaking my head furiously.

"Yes," I finally muster the courage to say. He's silent. The only noise we can hear are our feet dragging through the dirt, flicking rocks and sticks up in front of us.

"I..." He starts, "I really like you,"

I feel my lips curve into a smile.

I really like you too, I want to say. But I don't. I don't say anything. My eyes fill with tears, which stream down my face very quickly.

"Isla? What's wrong?" He asks me.

I stutter, "I don't know what's wrong with me,"

As I stand there, frozen, I feel his arms wrap around me, surrounding me in warmth. "It's ok," He whispers in my ear, "There's a lot wrong with me, too,"

After a long walk, we stop. He takes his hoodie off and hands it to me, "It's cold," He says. I lay down on the cold, dirty ground and he lays beside me.

"Goodnight, Isla," he whispers.

"Goodnight, Peter," I reply.