Mistake

Coincidence.

Truth

I could feel my heart beating uneasily, and time, to spite everything, was dangerously slowing down. I wanted to mishear it. I wanted so badly not to hear that name. I wanted to believe it was an incredibly unlikely coincidence.

I took a deep breath, nodding to the girl in understanding. I had to hide my feelings. To the deep, deep bottom. I was standing in front of two people I didn't know very well, not even prepared for this kind of information.

"Thanks for the phone." I put the object in my coat, doing it carefully and slowly, although the trembling hands did not help me in this.

I made brief eye contact with Britt. I straightened up, ready to go. And even when I turned around, I was already one step away from them, when other things just had to fall on me. Irritation struck again. It was an actual roller coaster in my head.

"I can walk you out."

But I didn't stop or turn around. I just closed my eyes, counting to five. He knew I didn't want company, and even a blind man would have noticed. Luckily, Britt's protest rang out, slowly fading away as I was making my way out.

"Let's give her a break, Ken," she opposed. I heard footsteps in the grass. "Let's go inside, I
have to get back to work..."

To tell you the truth, I felt relieved. Their conversation continued, and my person was out of their reach. I was heading for the peace I needed like oxygen.

Loneliness once felt like a cage that captivates and separates from everything, and sometimes... It was simply a refuge. And that was the shelter I wanted the most at that moment.

The conversation I could still hear behind me was quiet, but it ended faster than I could stop hearing it. I barely noticed. The sound of green blades under my half-boots was the only sound I could stand. Just the fading green and the peach color of the sky were the only colors that didn't burn in my eyes. And the smell of early autumn was the only smell I could fully inhale into my lungs.

All of this, at least a little, drowned out the name that kept repeating itself in my head.

I finally took the phone out of my coat, feeling it burn through all the layers of fabric. Carefully holding it in one hand and still following the path I already knew well, I found an unwritten number in the history of recent calls.

And it was only when I crossed the street and sat on the small, old, slightly musty bench that made up the entire stop that I blocked the number, removing it from the existence of my phone. From my life. Again.

The street was dead, and if I didn't take into account the distant din of the party, I might have considered this place unreal. There was no wind. There was no rain. There were no clouds. The orange sun barely touched the horizon, creating long shadows of trees, cars and the bus stop itself, while warming the right side of my face. I didn't even hear any chirping.

And honestly, it was my peace of mind. Silence. And the silence could drown out even the most powerful feeling. The loudest thought.

The downside of silence was that it left the mind completely on its own.


I heard the quick thud of heels on the asphalt of the parking lot right behind me. With a vanilla scent, a height equal to mine, and an amber complexion. A moment later, the girl matched her step with mine. I could see from the corner of my eye that she was looking at me hesitantly.

"It's good that day's over, huh?"

"Cut it, Rita."

She knew exactly what I meant, because she looked ahead without saying anything else. And she knew very well how much I hated it when she did  t h a t. Especially using euphemisms, thinking I wouldn't notice.

But at that moment, she noticed something else, suddenly grabbing my shoulders and turning me in her direction.

"You're right, I'm sorry. Why don't we go shopping? I found a wonderful-"

"What are you distracting me from?"

At that point, I didn't even bother to frown or speak with a mocking tone. I just wanted to know. And I wasn't stupid. The girl, on the other hand, didn't seem to sense that I was fed up with everything that was going on, because she made an inept, surprised face.

"It just came back to me that-"

I got out of her grip. Casually as one could turn, I turned towards what a European girl had looked at seconds ago, and there I saw what was not an unfamiliar sight.

They were standing there together. Him and her. Two of the most pathetic people in this school. And all my assumptions were confirmed when I saw the triumphant, mean smile on the girl's face and the lack of any reaction from the guy. He knew I was here. He just wouldn't look at me, hugging the girl tightly at the waist.

And only then did I see the signs of suspicion in myself. I turned to the girl next to me, frowning. She was looking anywhere but at me, probably already planning to resume the conversation about the store, when I thwarted her plan.

"I knew it was them," I spoke slowly and skeptically.

"I'm sorry, I... I didn't want you to think about... You know." She lowered her gaze, perhaps understanding that I did not approve of such gestures on her part.

"I know."

And then she looked up, staring at me hopefully. Maybe she still hasn't told me everything, but she wasn't going to bring it up.

"So, are we going shopping or not?"

And I, agreeing, was not going to give up my doubts.


"You missed the bus."

One sentence broke my silence, piercing through it like a sharp pin.

The guy sat next to me on the same, only stop bench there was. He kept a safe distance. He rested his elbows on his knees, interlocking his fingers. On his wrist, as probably always, was the same orange watch.

"None came."

Kendrick tilted his head slightly at my blank, washed-out-of-anything answer.

"It was just leaving the stop when I walked out of the path."

I didn't feel like explaining it, so I just said:

"I'll wait for the next one."

Because I couldn't admit that I was this deep into my thoughts. Because I'd love to do it again, to pretend that I only existed in that one reality. Quiet. Surreal. Peaceful. Anything to run away from myself, leaving who I was on the asphalt so the rays of the setting sun could burn it mercilessly. Destroy it.

Honestly, Kendrick was in a different state, too. He was tense and quiet at the same time. Whatever happened before, it affected him and the way he existed. He was between the world of thought and the real world. His expression was tight and impenetrable, but his gaze was locked directly on the forest across. Absent, but at the same time gentle and empty. He was mentally exhausted.

And just as I was expecting another round of questions, confessions, or complaints, all that came out of his mouth was:

"Fine."

And until the next bus pulled up under the bench, we sat in silence. Being in our own dimensions. In our own minds. In the midst of our own emotions. Too tired to hide anything. Too tired to say a word.

And neither of us minded it.

Sunday.

I couldn't avoid  t h a t  day.

The one and only day of the week when I supposedly didn't have to work work or study. When I got things done and I could do what I really wanted to do.

However, there were a few problems:

1. I didn't have time off because the outdoor parties were happening every day.

2. My wounds on my hands took away the pleasure of every single action.

3. My family was coming soon, and I didn't want them here one bit.

4. I had to remove the roots color of my hair, because my natural color was almost distinguishable from artificial gray.

So, there was a little bit of that. Although the last thing was simply to be done, rather than a
problem to be solved. At least not in front of my family.

I started, earlier than I would have liked, a day from first cleaning up the apartment so that my family wouldn't rant about anything being out of order, then moved on to changing bandages with the help of gauze and new bandages I bought yesterday.

When I saw only slightly better-looking, stitched hands, the very sight of them involuntarily took away my strength for the rest of the day. They were ugly. Disgusting. And completely useless. That's why this time I just wrapped my fingers separately so they wouldn't be a cumbersome whole anymore.

It all took longer than usual, so I had a lot less time to get to the store, do the groceries, come back and prepare something to eat. And it was good that on the way I had already prepared a list of purchases, because I could just go inside, get what I need, and immediately get back at noon.

I had to make it on time. I felt an inner pressure that I couldn't stand. I would've liked to pretend I wasn't in the apartment all day and just turn off the phone. But then, well, it would've only got worse.

The day was extremely treacherous, because along with the sun came a sudden temperature decrease and an icy wind, notoriously reminding me of it, piercing me through. So, I was wearing a coat, scarf and a not too thick hat. To wear the last thing, I decided to give up the ponytail for the sake of comfort. I didn't have the strength to fix it anyway. I decided to just put my hands in my pockets.

I was relieved when I crossed the door sill of the store, because this strong, cool wind, kept pulling my hair, even throwing leaves at me every now and then. As usual, there were no crowds, but there were also no voids. I put the shopping basket on my forearm, blending into the slightly chaotic traffic of the residents.

When I went to the next section, looking around for ready-cooked frozen meals, I noticed Chucks, the Tattoo Enthusiast. In a sports jacket and in the company of an older woman much shorter than him. Probably his mother, though she didn't have the slanted eyes of the boy. She held him carefully, clinging to his arm while pointing to some products from upper shelf.

This view, though typical, only made my mood worse. And increased anxiety.

Being at the cash register, I tried not to attract the attention of the two standing in front of me. I didn't want to go through with an awkward conversation. And I didn't think it would happen. We only knew each other by sight.

"Sorry, the cart was denied." The man at the checkout put the credit card in the tattooed hands of surprised Chucks.

"Please try again," he replied to this, handing the item back. The woman, clinging even more tightly to the guy, seemed very stressed by the situation.

And despite impatience, the cashier did as he was asked. In vain.

"I'm sorry, same thing."

Chucks looked at all the groceries, and probably figured he had to put them all away. The woman next to me suddenly started breathing faster. She looked at the cashier with terrifying hope in her eyes.

"There's no way it didn't work. Really..."

And when Chucks, with barely visible anxiety, grabbed the woman's hand, whispering something to her, I instinctively reached into the bag. As they were taking their groceries to put them away, I finally took what I needed out of my wallet. I held the item to the cashier, stopping all three of them.

"I'll pay for it."

And then the woman put a trembling hand on my shoulder.

"May the gods lead you well, my dear!" She smiled gratefully.

But Chucks just looked at me, completely caught off guard. And gratefully, too. In the end, when they had packed the purchases, and I had got my card back, the boy nodded to me.

"Thank you." I'll pay you back as soon as I can."

Unloading things from the basket, I paused for a moment and nodded my head, too. The previous anxiety in his green eyes, which appeared when the woman began to nervously react to the situation, and most of all the woman herself, those were  t h e  things. The things that drove me to do what I did. Panic symptoms.

And I think the same mechanism worked when I saw Benjamin's battered face.

It was time.

Fortunately, I managed to prepare everything, on a fairly tolerable level. I didn't try too hard either. First off, I didn't care that much, and secondly: my family was known for gastronomic rat races. They would surely bring something of their own.

And when I opened the door in the heat of the moment, it was proven to be no different. My mother, along with my aunt, led the family, holding the dishes in their hands. They didn't stop, they went straight to the kitchen.

My father greeted me with a cold hug, which I didn't even expect, and then, taking off his outdoors clothes, he went to the living room, where there was also a table and food.

And finally, the moment I dreaded most couldn't be avoided any longer.

A 17-year-old, red-haired girl in an emerald dress, as well as her mother, who had stopped by the kitchen earlier, came up to me to say hello.

Definitely that.

"It's so empty in here. No frames, no decorations... Hello, Georgia." And only after a not-so-subtle inspection of the walls, my aunt grabbed me in a tight hug.

"Hi, aunt."

And when she let me go, sitting down at the table in the living room, I didn't even have the strength to turn towards the last guest. All I had to do was stand sideways to her, and from the corner of my eye, I could see her cruel features.

She took a step toward me, leaning in and lowering her voice.

"Your hiding didn't work."

And she left me alone, ultimately throwing the last blow, causing destruction of everything I've built from  t h e n  up until now.