How to Live | ✓

three

>>three

Evelyn never thought she'd be in a position where she would have to lie to Mother. Nothing good could ever come out of a situation like that.

And yet, here she was, making her way to her favourite spot— the bridge— while Mother thought she still in school, debating about current affairs, controversial people and the indefinite future.

It was never supposed to be like this.

It was all a misunderstanding.

A miscommunication of information that led Evelyn to believe that the debate club finished at five o'clock. But when she found out it actually ended half an hour earlier, she had already told Mother what she thought she knew.

It was the fear that stopped Evelyn from telling her otherwise. The apprehension that Mother would think she'd lied to her, to try and deceive her. But, at the same time, she was terrified of what would happen if Mother did find out.

This was the never-ending paradox of Evelyn's life— damned if she did, damned if she didn't.

As Evelyn neared her destination point, she came to an abrupt stop when she saw that the bench she usually left her stuff on was occupied. The person sitting there was none other than that boy, Darren.

Of course he has to be here, she thought in disbelief. Of all the places in this bloody town.

There was a notebook in his hands that he was staring at, giving it an awfully large amount of attention. It looked a bit concerning from Evelyn's vantage point— the amount of energy that he was put into concentrating.

Was he even blinking?

Not that she cared.

She just wanted to know why he chose this place.

Her spot.

However, she knew it was pointless to get riled up about something as menial as this. There was another bench across from where he sat that she could use. She only needed it to put her bag there anyway.

Releasing a breath of air that could've been mistaken as a sigh, she made her way to the wooden bench. Evelyn tried not to walk directly in front of him, not really wanting to be noticed. She placed her bag down, and turned to head to the bridge, but much to her disappointment, she found him looking right at her.

"Hello Evelyn. Back again I see?"

She paused, contemplating on whether she should say anything.

You are not to speak to that boy again, do you hear me?

Although Mother wasn't here, she knew better than to be encouraging these sorts of things— relations with a boy. She went to grab her bag.

"Wait, you don't have to leave." He was already up from his space, trying to stop her with a hand on her arm.

She shrugged it off just as fast, shrinking in on herself as some innate response.

"I'm sorry," he said, his hazel eyes widening. "Are you... scared of me?"

She didn't reply, focusing on the sound of her breathing.

"Because I can assure you I'm just a harmless boy from Yorkshire."

"I'm not scared of you," she whispered, keeping her gaze down at the ground. Her shoes were black, and impeccably clean. Not a speck of dirt anywhere. The boy, on the other hand, wore a pair of worn-down trainers.

"Oh," he said, a sudden inflection in his tone. "The pretty girl does speak."

She flashed her gaze up for a second, just long enough to see a wonky smile tilting up his lips, before diverting it away. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, it means I think you're pretty."

"That's not what I meant..."

"You can still put your bag here, if you want. I'll look after it for you while you go sit." He had his hand outstretched, as though he expected Evelyn to just give him her bag.

She ignored it.

"How do you know that?" She said, her voice teetering on accusatory.

He put his hand down, not in the slightest bit fazed. "I saw you yesterday over here. I was the one that left you that poem— you saw that right? What did you think about that, by the way? I'm an aspiring poet."

"Oh."

The thought that he'd been watching her the other day, while she was so engrossed in her deep thoughts, drenched her in a thin layer of uncomfortableness.

"You're not really one for many words, are you?"

She didn't agree nor disagree. If that's what he wanted to think, so be it. Evelyn knew she was fully capable of having a decent conversation, and it made no difference to her whether he, of all people, knew such a fact.

"Well at least you won't distract me then," he said, a smile in his voice.

The idea of sitting on the bridge didn't seem so appealing to her anymore; it was a place she came to think. But if he was going to be here, she wasn't sure she'd be able get rid of the feeling that he was looking at her.

She wouldn't be able to do what she came here to do.

"Actually, I've got to go. Bye." Quickly, she turned away from him, in the case that he'd try to stop her again.

He didn't.

All she heard as she briskly walked away was a small "oh, okay" and nothing more.

Evelyn contemplated on the events of this past day as she took the long way home— hoping to avoid getting back too early. As she did, irritation started to bubble under the surface of her skin.

This boy came out of nowhere with some sort of mission to disrupt any sense of order in her life. Not only did he put Mother in a bad mood, but he stole her favourite place in the whole of this damned town. The only place she truly felt free enough to just exist, without the constant worry that she was doing this wrong or that incorrectly.

She huffed out a sigh.

Honestly, what was his problem?