"So you're mom doesn't care that you're going to a guys house, one she doesn't even know?" I say to her, pulling up to the red light, and slowing to a stop.
"My mom doesn't really care." She mutters.
"Oh okay." I say, turning up the radio to fill the silence between us. I turn left into the parking lot of my apartment, and pull into our parking space labeled 201. I walk up the thick concrete stairs to our apartment, and open the door. It's light brown walls and generic decoration aren't homey, they remind me of a catalog, not broken in, and overall not comfortable. She smiles and awkwardly nods.
"This is nice." She says, and I shake my head and laugh.
"You dont have to say that. I hate it. Come on," I say, grabbing her wrist and pulling her away to my room. Her breath hitches when I grab her hand, and since she cant see my face, I smile like I won the lottery. I pause before turning the knob of my door, and open it. A flash of fear goes through my body, and I instinctively squeeze her wrist.
"What?" She says lightly. I shake my head and take two steps into the little box like room so she can see the walls.
Her face is like an open book, curiosity is written on every line. She walks to one wall, touching every line on a drawing of a little girls face, smiling and holding a ball like she's playing catch. She moves around the room and gazes at all of the drawings. When she has looked at almost every drawing she spots that picture from Hawaii.
"Is this you and your parents?" She asks, and I nod, swallowing the lump that appears in my throat. "You seem so happy here, " She points to the photo. "but not happy here." She says pointing to me, sitting on my bed, criss-cross, and praying she wont ask another word about my happiness.
I just sit in silence, I cannot form any sort of comprehendible thought, so I stare quietly.
February is one of the smartest people I have ever met. She knows what people want. She understands if people are trying to mask sadness, or they're truly scared of something. She climbs up onto my bed and gestures for me to lie down. She lays right next to me, head on my chest, her hands wrapped around my stomach. We sit in silence, and I know the first person to speak will be her.
"Why are you so unhappy Pierce?"
YOU ARE READING
3am
Short Story"It's 3am and all I want is your lips on mine. It's the same as yesterday at 7pm, or Thursday at noon. It's the same as every hour, every minute, every second since I met you." #26 in Short Story.
