The Flames In Mind 16 In Too Deep || Part 2

Instead of turning around and replying, I walk to the nurse's desk and tell her of the situation. Rude, I know. I wasn't kidding about not wanting to talk to her. Any recollection I get from yesterday morning makes my blood boil. On the way here is a reminder, my resolve was and is tilted.

Being able to remember what her lips— no, no, no. Not thinking about it.

As the nurse collects the necessary items in the supply cabinets, I hear the familiar sound of running liquid into a gla.s.s metered giant-sized mug.

I coolly head over to the cla.s.sic coffee maker she has on top of a little cart near the windows. Pouring myself a cup made me recall forgetting some this morning. Missing my daily dose of caffeine is no pleasant relief for me. I live off my coffee.

You could say I drink it black, but I put a little creamer in it – the swirling whites turning into a dark tan. Almost equivalent to my sun-kissed skin. Enticing my taste buds to perk me up, the fresh bean smell feels to relax the stressful muscles and the now pounding of another headache.

The first time I had coffee was at a young age – I was around twelve or so. I had some trouble sleeping and used mostly energy drinks to keep me awake. My mother didn't like the number of cans I had scattered all over my room and my desk, refusing to let me live like a, and I quote, "gamer lifestyle."

Other than telling her off of her stereotypical remark, she encouraged me to try to have coffee instead but warned me not to have more than one. But that eventually turned into two. Then three and sometimes that will turn into a four.

I'm quite sure my mother noticed, she never said anything though. Probably because she drinks nearly the same amount, daily.

Once I finished preparing my coffee, I turn around leaning on the windowsill bringing the cup, filled to the brim, up to my lips. The strong coffee practically palpable as it inwardly splashes messily into the mug; a couple of droplets touching my lips. The smoke twirling higher, pa.s.sing my eyes.

Unwittingly tracing the light steam going for my first sip, the instant the hot sting scaled my tongue is the moment I see those stranger green eyes straight right in mine.

I have to make an effort to gulp away the burning heat and look around the room to ignore the pounding inside my chest. Hearing the nurses retreating footsteps helps me finally absorb what she said.

"She's all set. I have to run by the princ.i.p.al's office; I was told a meeting is in order before ya'll walk in. Good day! Oh, and Zivali?"

I raise my brows at her in indicating to continue, "I'll let you your mother know that everything is alright," with her voice softening, the nurse, Mrs. Bleu, rea.s.sures me.

Understanding her emphasis, I simply nodded since anything I feel to say would come out wrong. Then again, that is how it normally is. It took me a few seconds to grasps that I am currently in the position I tried to avoid all day long.

"Um..." I jump from the voice slicing through the tranquility of quietness. Whipping my head around from the door to stranger danger, I nearly spill my coffee in the process. Still, some of the stinging heat went on my hands.

"f.u.c.kin', motherfu—" I bit my tongue before I can run my mouth any further that terrorizes to scare the girl. Transferring the cup from one hand to another, I shake my hand reflexively in hopes to remove the burns.

"S-sorry," hearing the high-pitch vocable annoys me. Why is she apologizing for something that isn't her fault? It's all she ever says!

"Stop saying that," I snap at her, "You got no reason to apologize," I am brusque in my reply. My hand around the mug clenches the same time her head shrinks into her shoulders. Her green eyes wide from shock stutters my heart to take a well-renowned chill-pill.

Taking a deep breath, closing and opening my eyes, with the smelt of coffee – I calm down reasonably fast.
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With a bleak tone, "Mind me," I pause a second before continuing, looking at the bedsheets instead of her. "What we're you going to say?"

Seeing the sheets ruffle by her shifting on the bed, in my peripheral view, her shoulders relax, and those small fingers are endlessly fiddling. After biting on that bottom lip, she finally speaks.

"I... I still h-have to get my c-clothes," she blushes furiously. I c.o.c.k my head to the side piqued as to why she suddenly seems now embarra.s.sed.

Oh.

"Kay," I mutter softly, using my free hand to run through my rough tresses whilst taking another big gulp of my coffee. Turning a blind eye to the sudden igniting tension from realization, I try to converse to maybe make her feel – or myself – at ease.

"There's a party tonight," straight to the point. Perfect. Internally wishing Mrs. Bleu would walk through the door at this time.

The battered-up girl on the bed does a little jump, "I'll come!" The overlay eager response came way too quick for my liking before I could continue. I guess I was wrong earlier, maybe she does like parties.

"You don't have to go if you don't want to," I quickly put the thought out there. No feeling is as great as being forced to do something you don't like. I know I don't act like it, being considerate is a must.

The talk I had with Rennie earlier, pops up in my head. That is the most primary reason why I am asking her this question, maybe if I say something weird or a possible situation where she might change her mind.

With my voice scarce, "Bee and I won't be able to accompany you though." Yeah, that should work. It should definitely—

"That's fine," she waves her hand dismissively with a tight-lipped smile reaching her eyes. Eyes that seemed to have turned blue? Or green?

Shaking the thought away, it's probably the lightening.

I squint harshly in them, my coffee is forgotten. "Are you sure?" I slowly draw out.

Anyone could easily pick up her hesitation before stuttering out a, "Y-yes." She nods briskly, black hair dangerously falling out from her ponytail. Her black-painted chipped nails are fiddling again, picking away more of the dark color contrasting her soothing skin.

Feeling the tension again that I've tried to ignore, now mindful of my coffee, I gulp the rest down – it's lukewarm, almost cold – and go to put it in the sink on the opposite wall to her bed.

With my back facing her, "Meet you in my car." I walk out of the confining room, feeling less and less pressured.

I sigh, whether she knows or not, guess I'm going to have to watch her from afar. I hope the s.h.i.t with Rennie will soon be over with.