Forgive me, please?

1:2

<><><>Adelaide's<><><>

My throat is impossibly dry. Which is weird, considering the substantial amount of salty tears that are cascading down my cheeks.

My throat tightens as my breath comes in fast spurts; panic. I tear my hands through my long caramel hair, shutting my eyes and shaking violently.

It's my fault.

It's my fault.

I rock slightly, hiding away in the corner of my room after the news had gone around and finally has reached my ears.

Seven Storms has killed himself.

It's my fault.

I take a few shuttering breaths, attempting to control my emotions; but to no avail.

I lean against the wall and open my eyes. Tears blur my vision, and I hastily blink them away.

My hand comes up to palm my eyes, but they're shaking substantially.

Since when have I had a steady pace of anything?

Since when was I deserving of allowing myself to still?

Never, A voice in my head crows, a crick in the back of my mind that I can't get out.

I don't fight it. I agree.

—

I trace my fingers along the hem of the floral skirt my mother made me. The fabric felt soft and smooth against my warm fingertips. I looked up at her, smiling. "Thank you, Mama." I whisper, and take a cluster of fabric in my hand, holding the cloth close to my thigh.

"No problem, sweet." Mama replies, her hazel eyes twinkling against her pale complexion. She sat in her wheel chair, as she's been unable to move her legs since a freak accident that happened a few years ago. I feel so bad for my Mama. She combs her fingers through her tangled brown hair, the same fingers she used to make my beautiful skirt.

I walk over to her and grab a comb that was so conveniently placed on the table in front of us. I stand behind her and run the comb through her hair.

I can't see her face, but I know she's smiling her crooked but gorgeous smile. I braid her hair and let it fall against her shoulder.

"Thank you," Mama whispers, and takes my hand. She plants a soft kiss on it and strokes it with a finger, tracing along the parted lines of my palm.

"Of course," I respond, smiling so I felt my dimples against my teeth. Mama let's go of my hand, which drops to my side. She snorts a soft laugh from her nose, brushing her hands absent-mindedly  along her braid.

I turn away slightly, my smile falling almost immediately. My hands turn clammy against my skirt, and I bury my fingernails in the soft flesh of my palm.

Does she know? The voice prods. I have the urge to thrum a fist against my head.

No, is always my answer, she wouldn't love me.

You're deserving of it then? It piques, and I pause.

No.

<><><>6:58 am<><><>

I decided to wear the skirt Mama made me to school.

I walk into school and feel the skirt rustle slightly against my legs. I open my locker and ignore the stares from sneering girls around me. A slight burn of shame creeps up my neck, but I force it down.

Grabbing my books, I make my way to my homeroom, swerving out of people's way. Gale stands there, his messy dark brown hair sticking all over from every angle, covering most of his eyes. He reaches up a hand, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

My heart aches.

Gale's evergreen eyes travel and connect with mine. I see him hesitate, a pained expression tugging on his perfect face for a second. Until he returns to his regular, ambiguous look.

"Hey," he says, making his way over to me.

My eyes travel to the floor. I don't answer.

Suddenly he raises a fist and slams his it against my books. They clatter to the floor, and I see him dig his fingers into his palms. "fuck you," he hisses, before turning on his heel and stalking away.

I pick up my books, my eyes burning.

Someone's hand appears, helping me pick them up.

I look up and am immediately blessed by the boy who crouches beside me.

Messy dirty blonde hair, startling blue eyes and pale, smooth skin. He smiles, and I hesitantly return it.

"Thanks," I mutter, my cheeks flushing, my hands turning clammy once more.

He hands me my books. "Not an issue." He responds, patting his hands against his jean clad thighs. He peers at me for a second. "I'm Sawyer, by the way."

Sawyer. I purse my lips, averting my gaze. "Adelaide."

Sawyer smiles again. "Are we in the same class?" He points to the classroom beside us.

"It seems so," I nod my head. I stand up and so does he, and we walk into the classroom together.

I find my seat and ignore  everyone's stares. A few hushed whispers follow Sawyer's straw head, but he seems obvlious. Or, maybe he's ignoring them.

"He's cute!"
"Not as cute as Gale!"

My heart jolts at the mention of his name. I furrow my brows, my ears burning, my hands twitching slightly against my sides.

Pathetic, the voice enters again, and my jaw ticks.  You cant even hear his name without freezing up.

I glance across the room, and my heart speeds up as I see Gale peering at me out of the corner of his eyes. He glares and quickly flickers them to the front of the room.

"Class!" Our teacher, averts our attention. "We have a new student,"

Sawyer smiles kindly and I hear swoons. I almost swoon, myself.

"Hi I'm Sawyer," he nods his head, "I like soccer and reading. Hope we can be friends."

"You can sit next to Adelaide," Mr Kirby says, pointing at the seat next to me.

A blush creeps up my neck. At the newfound states pointed at the side of my face

Sawyer sits down next to me and grins. "Looks like we meet again."

Lips taught, I nod, flickering my eyes across my face hesitantly.
________