30th april, 2014
there's this issue with me, I don't know, I can't be happy because i always think if when it's going to end and the worst that could happen.
the boy from yesterday, his name's dylan. he told me to write everything I wanted to and don't erase it, because it "helps" . I don't know what to think about it because he doesn't seem like the type to spout bullshit, so i will. i hate everyone's efforts, and I want to be left alone and to be bothered with my own problems.
zenith set the pencil down and ran her hands through her raven hair. a penny for your thoughts was the phrase dylan had used to describe it, leaning over to her from the seat across. she'd told him about everything, about all the symptoms and disorders and such.
and so she got into the habit of writing what she felt.
-
the next day the boy- dylan was there, sitting right by the window two seats up from the one she favored. he had one hand through his hair while the other held a pencil. a girl, seemingly older appearance-wise, sat in front of him, a file in hand and a clipboard stuffed inside of it. he fidgeted in his seat and his right foot tapped against the floor repeatedly.
"dyslexia and neurosis, actually."
was this a test? zenith didn't know, wasn't sure, hadn't experienced. she focused on trying to keep her hair in the braid she'd left it in before going to school.
"...and your results will be ready in a few days."
click, clack. the sound of hard heels stepping on the cold tiled floor led zenith's gaze upward. he still sat there, watching the occasional flutter of what was left on the still-bare trees.
then the sound of her own soft rubber soles on the tile and she was conscious of her every move as she went over.
"hey." she tried to ignore the hoarse, strangled sound that came out of her throat and instead chose to use the squeaky noise that emitted from the chair as she pulled it back and sat. thankfully, he heard her and not the dying-bird she sounded like.
"hi, person." he states in a low voice. "your name? "
she reddens as much as she could with her stubbornly pale cheeks. "i'm, um, zenith? we talked before, the pencil thing, you know," she stopped, realizing how ridiculous she sounded.
"i remember. i just didn't, well, get your name." he explained, his head resting on his forearms as he appraised her sideways. zenith couldn't help but notice the lone tendril of his dark hair that flopped to the side with his head. "oh, kay." she spoke in a slightly wobbly voice.
dylan suddenly reached out to tangle his fingers in the ends of her hair. "you have blue eyes." he noted like a child as he looked at them. he let go of her hair gently and she immediately missed the loss of the tug-ish pressure. "and coffee colored hair with highlights. do you dye your hair?" he inquired, now focusing on a groove in his desk.
her voice barely came out as a whisper. "no."
his fingers traced the wood pattern on the table. "blue eyes, dark hair," he looked at her face again, "and freckles."
she could barely allow the rise and fall of her chest as her heartbeat picked up.
"you could help me with my dyslexia." he mused, as if he were talking to himself. "could you?" he looked toward her, a light smile hovering at the edges of his lips.
"i could - um, i can." she found herself answering.
anytime.
