I didn't go home that night. I had accidentally slept under the tree, I knew my mother wasn't going to mind because she just didn't care.

I walked to my bus stop, with my book bag, glasses, and fedora.

He was there. Standing, waiting for the bus just like yesterday. "Hey! Patrick, how are you doin'?" He asked, he tried to go in for a hug but I didn't pay any attention to him.

There wasn't a person who made me more mad than him right now. "Um hello? Patrick, are you mad at me?" He asked.

I knew he knew that I was mad at him. "Look, I don't know why you're mad at me but I can't apologize if you don't give me a sign for why." He said.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, he felt around in his pocket giving out a confused look on his face. He pulled out a piece of paper and began to read. His face becoming more and more worried each word he read.

He put the note down, he looked sad. A tear dripped down my face on the side he could see. I quickly wiped it away with my red cardigan sleeve. "Patrick....I-I'm so sorry." He said.

I put my hand up to his face to tell him to stop talking to me, I hated being dramatic but...I just really wanted him to leave me alone. He tired to hug me again but I just stared at him as I backed up. My eyes were red and puffy and I felt ugly as usual so I ran away from him.

Surprisingly he chased after me, even as the bus approached the stop. "Wait Patrick!" He yelled as he chased behind. I didn't understand why he kept chasing me, I wanted to be alone.

I stopped by the tree that I stayed the night at, I was out of breath. I bent down an rested my arms on my thighs. I put my hand to my face and removed my glasses. I stood back up rubbing my face.

Pete came in after me. I hated him, I hated that I liked him. "Patrick.....I-I'm sorry." He mustered; out of breath. I looked down to my shoes, he approached me; slowly. Cupping my face with his hands, "Patrick? Let me hear you?" He said like it was a question, like it was an options he still had.

I hated being dramatic but I slapped him. It was cliché, like a terrible French romance movie but that's just how I felt. He looked at me again, is face had a huge red hand mark from me. I blushed slightly, "I deserved that." He said. I looked into my bag and pulled out a small note pad and a pencil to write with.

I wrote on the page 'Pete, I'm sorry that I slapped you, it's to soon in whatever this is, to fight. Also I feel that's best that we stayed friends, I don't want to hurt you and I know that you aren't interested in hurting me so lets just say that this never happened.' I handed him the note, he read quickly then looked into my eyes again. "I refuse to let you go, I refuse to let you leave me. I know, yes it to early to start saying this...but I need you. I'm insecure and depressed and you're the first person that I have ever met who was actually real and not just some fake wannabe Barbie and Ken dolls." I frowned, this was going to be harder than I had originally thought. I flipped to another page 'I just don't know if I can trust you, okay.' I wrote; he read it fast, so fast that I'm starting to believe that he is just skimming threw it and only picking out some of them to comprehend.

"Can't you give me another chance, I promise that this time I won't screw up." He said holding my hand. I took a seat on the grown and he sat in front of me, he picked my glasses from off the grown and cleaned them with his shirt then gently put them on my face. I flipped to another page and wrote 'Thanks' He read a few seconds longer than the last few. "you're welcome, handsome."

That word....that word made me want to spring from where I was sitting and kill him, it made me want to rip the skin from my bones, it made me want my blade. I always hated compliments about me, because I knew they were lies. He was a liar. I quickly turned to another page and began to write 'why do you thi-' Then he cute me off by saying "You have beautiful hand writing, has anyone ever told you that?" I shook my head.

He then saw that I was writing something and asked "What are you writing?" I quickly ripped it out of the small note book and stuck it in my pocket. I shook my head, signifying that it wasn't important.

We sat and talked, or he just talked and I listened. He was a nice person, even if he didn't look like it or seem like it; he really was. "Patrick, are you still...mad?" He stuttered a little. I shook my head, we were kind of liars inside to be honest so I lied to him, I couldn't stand to look into his eyes with out feeling something in my stomach and a strange leap from my heart. The feeling made me feel uncomfortably comfortable. "Patrick?" Pete said confused. I looked up from my gaze to his face, "If you give us more time, can I hear your voice?" He asked putting his hand on mine, I smiled confusedly and shrugged.

He took them off and frowned "I don't understand you, what am I supposed to do?" But I once again said nothing, because I had no intentions of speaking; to anyone.

I curled my legs up to my chest and sat there and watched him lose his mind about me. There wasn't much I could do but sit and, watch.