Chapter Eleven

All I can think is how perfect Em and Evan are. How good they are to me. How wonderful. And that I can’t remember feeling quite so happy. I can feel a wetness building behind my eyes as I stand there, kind of in awe at this. I’ve never heard something so beautiful. 

“God you two are perfect. Thank you.” I whisper. And it’s the silence that follows that let’s me know they understand just how much it means to me. Just how beautiful I thought their performance was. I can’t even begin to explain how much very much it means to me. I couldn’t receive a greater gift. The car ride is quiet, and comfortable. We go to Insomniac’s Addiction, which is quickly becoming our usual coffee place. The bitter sweet smell of coffee invades my senses as we enter the room. It’s warm, and dimly lit and the music they play is acceptable. They have the best non-fat caramel latte I’ve drank in my short existence. 

“I’ll order.” Em smiles, nodding us towards a table. I can feel a smile growing on my face. Today is amazing, regardless of anything else. Evan and Emily are so good to me. I don’t know what I did to deserve them. We slide into chairs in a corner table. Sitting next to each other, closer than really necessary our hands intertwining beneath the table. As easy talk ensues. 

“You’re so gorgeous.” Evan sighs, almost disbelieving. Yet again, I’m amazed, and completely flattered by this boy that is somehow mine. I’m not sure what he sees in me exactly, not that I feel worthless. It’s just he’s so good, and beautiful, and good. He plays instruments, and he can sing, he gets good grades, he plays sports, he’s family oriented. How does one become so perfect? Em returns to the table, hands full of coffee, a folded slip of paper in her hand. She slides Evan and I our coffee, and sits down.

“So get this, that really cute guy at the counter just gave me his number!” Em gushes, her cheeks flushed and a smile bright on her face. She’s so pretty, and stunning. I glance towards, the counter. A guy is indeed looking in our direction, gazing at Emily with that stunned puppy look she so often gets. Next thing I know, a girl is approaching our table, eyes wide and furious. Holding a cup of what I can only assume is hot coffee. She’s got a death look plastered on her face.

“B***h. Stay off my man!” She spits and in one quick motion, she flicks the lid off her cup, and dumps it on Em’s head. The shriek emitted from her mouth is blood curdling. Steaming hot liquid splatters Evan and I, as the girl throws her cup on the ground and stomps off. 

“Oh my god!” I gasp. Getting up to stand next to Em, hands fluttering wildly because what are you supposed to do in a situation like this. Evan is up before I can breathe, and the boy at the counter is by my side. All of us hands fluttering awkwardly, not knowing what to do. A string of words flowing out of all of our mouths. It is in that moment, in the dead silence of the coffee shop that Emily decides to burst out laughing.

“Talk about dramatic.” She spits, standing to go to the restroom. I can see the brave facade she’s putting on. I can see the tears welling in her eyes, and the red welts forming on her skin. I know she’s not only upset because some girl dumped hot coffee on her, I’m assuming that had a lot to do with it, but I know she doesn’t take well to harsh words. She tries so hard to be a good person, and to be liked and lovable. For the most part she succeeds. I can see by the glint in her eye as she walks away that this is going to bother her for a long time coming. Evan and I share a look, and I know he sees it too.

I go out to the car, fishing in the backseat for Em’s pair of emergency sweatpants that I know she always leaves just incase. Grabbing them, I make my way back into the coffee shop feeling an intense sense of hatred for the girl. I don’t understand why she’d freak out over such a simple thing as a phone number. Yes, Emily is gorgeous and good at everything, and that is intimidating. That gave her no right, no right at all to do what she did. Bullying is such a big problem, and I just don’t understand why. There’s no real reason for such petty hatred. I can feel anger building up in my chest as I nudge the girls bathroom door open. Who gives a damn anyways? Em is sitting at the sink, bent over completely sobbing. I throw her sweatpants so that they are hanging over the one of the stall doors, no telling how dirty public restroom floors are, and wrap my arms around her.

For what seems like forever, I just whisper comforting meaningless words into her ear, rocking us back and forth. I know saying anything with meaning behind it will be to much for her. I sing softly under my breath, old melodies from our childhood, not even completely remembering the words. She smells sickly sweet, like coffee and artificial flavoring. Her hair is sticky, a residue of sugar coating her face. Light pink and red welts cover her face and chest, none of the burns look to bad. Wetting a paper towel, I gently wipe the coffee from her face, and chest. She pulls her blouse off over her head leaving her in a stained tank top and her damp jeans. Wordlessly, she puts on the sweats. 

I feel rather than see Evan’s worries eyes trained upon us. He doesn’t even say a word before opening the door for us, and taking Em’s keys. She clambers into the back seat, laying down across it. Completely silent for once, probably going through the scene in her head. 

“Should we go to the hospital?” Evan whispers maybe forty-minutes later. We’ve been driving around aimlessly, Em feel asleep in the back seat and neither of are sure what to do. If we take her to her house, she’d have to relieve the scene by telling her parents what happened. If we take her to the hospital, she might get angry. If we go to my house, she’ll still be in pain, but able to shower.

“I honestly don’t know.” I murmur. The look in Evan’s eyes tell me he’d rather be safe than sorry. I nod my agreement, and he turns in the general direction. I’ve never been really educated on the subject of burns. The worst I’ve ever gotten were received from the oven while cooking, and they were never much more than slightly pink flesh. Her burns look bad, but she’s not complaining, so I have to wonder how bad they hurt. Welts have to mean something bad, but how bad?

Author's Note

So, this might suck. I did it in a short period of time. FINALS. Lack of sleep. Tell me what you think?

Reviews

[Jonathan Biswell]

very good i like your writing

[eatmills]

Ya done good :)