Hate Me Love Me

8| Just Friends 🥘

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"Every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future." --- Oscar Wilde.

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Should I go, or should I stay?

Not a single part of me is clean.

I walk to the locker room, leaving a trail of unknown substances behind me. I have to walk across the whole school to get to the Gymnasium buildings. There are 5 floors, each with their own gym, locker rooms and bathrooms. I sneak into one of the showers on the second floor after getting my gym bag, peeling off my clothes and letting the warm water pour in buckets over me. 

I feel bad for the drainage system. 

When I've kicked off most of the junk to a side and got rid of the liquids on my skin, I infuse myself in gardenia-scented products a lot more than I usually do.

When I'm sure that the smell is enriched in my skin, I smile in satisfaction. I love gardenias. Their smell is just so exotic and intoxicating.  I've been using gardenia-scented things for years. It's my personal fragrance. Today, however, it's just much stronger. 

I slip on my gym shirt and shorts without any underwear. It's not my fault that my undergarments are all soaked and smelly. I clean my glasses and put them back on.

Just to be one-hundred-percent sure that I don't smell, I spray on some perfume and finally put on my gym shoes. My entire formal uniform will need to be professionally cleaned.

I search up dry-cleaners and walk all the way. It takes 20 minutes, but I manage to get there in perfect time to collapse on the chairs. I definitely need to exercise more.

I plan on jogging here in the morning and picking up my stuff.

Jo probably got a call from the principal again today. Hopefully she made up an excuse. 

I walk home with my gym bag and school bag. I'm definitely on the way to shrinking. 

When I'm about to turn into my street, my school-bag gets yanked off my shoulder for the second time today.

Turning around so quickly that my neck snaps, I take in the person holding my bag with a humongous grin on his face. Straight blonde hair that goes down past his ears and glassy grey eyes. Tall and broad shouldered. Handsome.

Christian Denver.

My friend from public school here.

'Chris?' my eyes are wide and my jaw is hanging open in surprise.

He gently places my bag on the ground and opens his arms. I drop my gym bag and wrap my arms around his neck as his hands go around my torso.

'VALERIE!' he shouts out happily, swinging me around and not letting go. I bury my face in his neck, holding on tightly. My feet aren't touching the ground and for now, I'm happy I don't have to be stepping on land that Alaric Aldrois owns.

'Valerie?' he sounds concerned now. 'Is everything alright? School's not over yet. Why do I sense that something's up?' 

I still don't let him go, and stay silent. After a moment, he understands and hugs me tighter. I don't cry. I don't speak. 

Because I've always known the healing powers that a good hug possesses. 

After a while, we pull apart and smile at each other. It's been 5 years. I'm not popular on social media, and in grade 6, I didn't have a phone, so we couldn't stay in touch.

'God, I missed you,' he says.

'Me too,' I reply.

'Are you going to tell me what's wrong?'