uncool, stanley barber

24

24 - not all adults lie, i'm afraid

"arabella, i don't understand you sometimes" my mother said, brushing my hair with a comb.

"i like to write, mum. poetry. it's like lyrics, but with no music."

"what's the fun in that?"

"mrs cappriotti saw me sitting alone and asked if i like writing. i told her i've never tried it and so she gave me a book-"

"mrs cappriotti? as in the school's guidance counsellor?"

"yes-"

"stay away from her. she'll want to get in your head, make you think that you've got issues. that i'm not fit to be a mother."

"you're my mum, though."

"people might see my ways as extreme, but please, darling for me."

a clump of my hair is ripped from my scalp as i see it in the comb. "ok, mummy."

i wake, sitting up and feeling my head. i can still feel the missing patch, but it's covered up by my messy waves.

"ella?" stanley whimpers beside me. his curls are messy as he squints up at me. we fell asleep on his couch with a duvet over us. "w-what's wrong?"

"just," but i stop myself. my mum's gone, his dad still does it. i can't bore him with my sob story when his is still continuing.

"you can tell me anything, you know that" he says, sitting up beside me pulling me into a hug.

i breathe in his familiar scent and think how fortunate i am to have him. i wonder if my parents were like this, if they were ever so infatuated as we are.

i take his hand from holding me to the back of my head. i guide his fingers to where my bare patch is.

"she did that to you, didn't she?" he asks being ever so delicate, assuming it's still sore. he doesn't need an answer to know. "ella, i'm-"

"i don't need to hear it" i say, tears prickling my eyes. "i know. she's gone and i sometimes-i sometimes feel guilty-"

he knows what i'm going to say and doesn't interrupt me, he lets me breathe and take my time.

"c-cause i'm relieved."

he hugs me tighter, brushing my waves with his fingers and i quietly sob into his chest. he lays us down again as i try to control my breathing and wipe my tears away.

"she's not gone though" i say. "i s-still hear her. i still see her. i can still feel her."

"i know" stanley says as he looks at me "these things can never go away" he brushes my hairs out from my face. "but you've got me. and i've got you. and we'll get through it."

i snuggle closer to him, kissing his lips. he can taste the salt from my tears, but he doesn't care. he hugs me closer as we're comfier under the duvet, close.

"how'd i get so lucky?" i look up at him and brush his curls. he smiles down at me, happy to see me in his arms.

"how'd i get so lucky?" he repeats, kissing my forehead as i snooze. we're together, we're us. in love.

you hear adults say your teenage years are some of the best and worst years of your life. you think how could anything that happens be so perfect to class it your best?

but they don't lie. it's the best.

a short one cause i've been watching the ITs