different talk
It was hard, the first day back to school. I had always gotten A’s or B’s because academic praise was all I had left to rely on. Until Daniel, but now he’s gone. I don’t have Synthy anymore, she made that clear the moment my sleeve rode up one summer morning. I don’t have Daniel’s place, I don’t have anything besides academic praise. So, why, why is it hard to draw grass? A dumb project for art is making me have a breakdown. I’m outside, looking at the tall Inarizaki building and the grass around it. Why can’t I make it 3-D? Why can’t I be creative like I once was?
What did you do to me? What did I do to myself? How am I like this? I’m almost eighteen, and what will I have to look back on? “Hey, are you okay?” I pause my dumb sketch and wait for the voice in my mind to tell me what to do. It doesn’t. “Hello?” “Um…” I stuff my shit in the backpack at my feet. It must be late- too late. So, I stand, making sure my backpack is buckled and my shoes are tied. I’m not acknowledging the person because I can’t. It’s embarrassing to have a dumb school assignment and cry over it. The teacher likes me, my grade will still be an A because she knows I’m not the best at drawing even if she says otherwise. “Hey-” “Miya, what are you doing?” This voice is muffled and I hear a whine. “Omi, I told you not to use my last name-” “Sorry,” I voice, brushing off my school skirt and the tight leggings I’m wearing. They smell metallic because this summer wasn’t the best financially. And it was all my fault. At least, that’s what my mother says.
But I can’t fully leave because someone grips my arm, and that love of blood- of my pain and blood, suddenly becomes fear because that slight amount of pressure turns into tears. “Oh shit-” “Hey-” “I’m sorry.” I leave, I don’t know how, but I do leave, and I don’t see them again, truly. I don’t see them until I have a class with that blonde so far down the line. When I’ve decided that healing for myself is better than killing off the little child who held her father’s hand for the last time. And the moment we lock eyes, we pretend not to know each other, besides that one question appearing again. “Hey, are you okay?” It was after class, and I have to look up from the fat manga I’m reading to answer him softly. “Yes, just had a problem.” That’s the last I remember, and graduation was after that. And I never went to the party, I never met any of Daniel’s friends truthfully, I never took my life, I never said goodbye to my mother- I have a life, and maybe the first part wasn’t the best, but right now is.
“I wanted something cold?” My face cringes at my words, high-pitched anxious voice. Suna nods. “It is chilly, but I’ll indulge.” I retrieve my hand with the cracked bag of popsicles. He doesn’t pause, he just comments, taking out another bag of popsicles and an ice cream sandwich, “You’re like the hulk.” He steals it from me, the broken bag of popsicles, and my pulse. I don’t think I’ve ever received this much kindness since meeting Bethany. But for him, it is so different. It’s like reading your favorite book, warming your hands near a heater with your mom wrapping a blanket around you, finding the keys to your car, realizing that the recipe your father used to make, you could actually recreate perfectly- Suna was it all, I think. “A lady shouldn’t eat broken things.” But I am, I wanted to say, broken. Are you okay with it? The lines that I used to glue myself together are obvious and I don’t think you want something broken. Because I’m used to it, even after years of foreign myself out of bed, I’m used to being emotionally tormented.
“Is this all…” The cashier is a bit surprised because of Suna being next to me, from Suna getting the tiny food while I’m getting a bag of popsicles that will be mushy by the time I’m home. “Yes, here.” He knew the price and before I can even think, he’s paid the tiny total. He’s doing things for me before I even speak. And he’s taking the bag of popsicles, and handing me the sandwich. He’s looking out for me, and my heart aches because this is what Daniel did. Is it going to repeat, or have I actually grown? I want to be a grown adult in an adult's body now. Not a kid forced to be one. “So, why do you want popsicles?”
I’m focused on the sidewalk, the sandwich packaging crinkle, the fact that there’s a lot less rain than before. I’m forced to pay attention to my feelings because I think I like the man next to me. But he’s out of my league, right? “Oh…” It’s like I’m a kid again, fumbling with my words and the smiles that want to poke out. “I just…” I want to tell him that it was either this or hurting my soft skin- because it’s soft now, not rough and sensitive with dried red paint on it. And my skin smells nice, not like it used to. Not like how depressed I was and no one knew- or if they did, they let me become codependent on them. “Wanted something cold.” He watches my lips, he watches my eyes, he’s watching my brain think.
He nods. “Well, can’t deny cravings I guess.” He scratches the back of his neck, nibbling on the inside of his cheek. “Do you… want to sit and talk?” I blink, watching him, his eyes, his lips, his hands, his neck, his brows furrowing, his mind thinking. I can see his eyes flicker to mine and a tiny smile makes my lips. “Sure… Um, where do you-” A ring sounds, and I’m not anxious about drawing attention to myself, instead, I’m anxious about losing time with him, because when will I see him again?
“Sorry,” I quickly, quietly voice as my phone comes out of my pocket. He shakes his head. “It’s fine, I can wait.” I’m accepting the call because it’s Bethany, and Bethany will either be squealing about something we should do together or telling me something important. And Bethany always answers me. And I’ll always answer Bethany. “Hello, Beth?” “Y/n I have exciting news!” I glance at the brunette beside me, the popsicle bag turning his hands colder. “Um… Can it-” “I have a date! And I need a plus one-” “No, I don’t want to date anyone-” “But I’ve already asked all the straight coworkers-” “I’m not straight-” “But no gay guys are up for it-” “Would you not say that?” “Why?” “Because it sounds like your saying, gay gays. Now tell me-” “I would say that though-” “Beth-” “Maybe I should start-” “Bethany! Now is not the time to set me up on a date!” She pauses and I’m left to stand in my embarrassment. “Oh… Are you… Did Daniel-” “I’m not with Daniel right now… I kind of said some things and ended it.” She pauses again, and I can tell she’s thinking, she’s got the cute scrunch of her eyes as she inspects an empty space where I’d be. “Come home safely, and tell me about the date with Suna-” “Excuse me-” “Bye!”
Suna walks me over to a bench, and luckily, we’re able to have a decent conversation. Until he asks about me. “So… Who’s Daniel?” I have never been good at emotions, only in my twenties did I start to adapt, forcing myself to be better at communicating and leaving all the trauma I would never get apologizes for, behind. “Daniel is an old friend… Really old- Um, we kind of lost contact, and now… I just didn’t think there was a point to being friends anymore. It’s okay to grow apart if one, or neither of us is ready to try and mend the relationship- Honestly, we could get back together, but…” A quick image of him smiling, showing me around the school, and forcing me to get a weird flavor of chip and eat it flashes before my mind, and I want my life to go differently. But I’m simultaneously glad it hasn’t. “I get it… I had a crush on my friend’s crush and when he found out, instead of mending it… we just went our separate ways- And it wasn’t like we were the best of friends either.” “Still hurts though?” He nods, scratching the back of his neck.
“Yeah.” I smile slightly. A part of my mind thought he was different from me, his status and fame something I never got- will never get. And I’m content with that, yet I’m so happily surprised that Suna isn’t like Daniel. “Well, it is getting late,” I start, reaching for my phone and noticing three texts from separate people. I’m drawn back, however, Suna standing and holding his hand out for me to take. It’s the one that didn’t hold the popsicles, the one that’s the warmest. Still, even as I grip it, I doubt he’s ever cold. His skin is warm, burning hot, and comforting. A comfort that my cuts could never compare to. And that’s where I’m scared. “Well, goodbye, for now, Suna.”
He smiles, and it’s painfully good. “Goodbye, for now, L/n.”