Status: 1/26/11: Someone reported this story so....
Last Regret
Chapter 13
I have no clue where I am so going home is not an option. The car door isn’t open so I slink down on the sidewalk with my knees pulled up to my chest and cry.
I cry because Ryan was right. I cry because I don’t have any real friends, I cry because my father is dead and I cry because I have no job. I didn’t know how Ryan had seen through every single one of my lies but it was scary to think I was that transparent. Who else could see right through me? And what did they see? Were they as disgusted by my insides as I was?
“Alexis?” a voice says uncertainly, but I refuse to look up. The voice repeats my name and eventually comes to stand right in front of me. I have a clear view of their dark black skinny jeans which leads me to believe that it’s Brendon. Brendon leans downs so that I can see his face and smiles half-heartedly.
“You okay?” he asks, but I don’t answer.
Brendon frowns, “I’m really sorry about him.” I nod slowly and Brendon sighs.
He sits down in front of me, “You were crying?” The way Brendon asks the question makes me want to lie. He sounds a little angry and incredulous, like he can’t believe that Ryan of all people could make me cry. For some reason though, I tell the truth. Maybe it’s because, I don’t think I can get much lower than this, or just because I thought I could trust him.
“Ryan was right about me. I don’t have anyone or anything but nobody cares,” I say, making sure that I don’t catch Brendon’s eye.
“Ryan was wrong. You’ve got your mom and your friends, they all care about you!”
“I don’t have any real friends Brendon,” I answer quietly.
”You’ve got me… and that bowling alley is full of people who want to be your friend,” he says enthusiastically. I don’t say anything but instead shake my head in disapproval. That room was just full of people waiting for something to talk about or laugh at. I couldn’t go back in there and expect anyone to take me seriously.
"Come on Alexis! You’ve got to try at least,” he urges, grabbing my hand and pulling me up from the ground.
“Brendon, I can’t.” He turns around and searches my eyes in confusion.
“What if…what if they don’t like me?” I mumble, looking down at my feet.
“Hey,” Brendon begins lifting my chin, “what’s not to like?”
I cry because Ryan was right. I cry because I don’t have any real friends, I cry because my father is dead and I cry because I have no job. I didn’t know how Ryan had seen through every single one of my lies but it was scary to think I was that transparent. Who else could see right through me? And what did they see? Were they as disgusted by my insides as I was?
“Alexis?” a voice says uncertainly, but I refuse to look up. The voice repeats my name and eventually comes to stand right in front of me. I have a clear view of their dark black skinny jeans which leads me to believe that it’s Brendon. Brendon leans downs so that I can see his face and smiles half-heartedly.
“You okay?” he asks, but I don’t answer.
Brendon frowns, “I’m really sorry about him.” I nod slowly and Brendon sighs.
He sits down in front of me, “You were crying?” The way Brendon asks the question makes me want to lie. He sounds a little angry and incredulous, like he can’t believe that Ryan of all people could make me cry. For some reason though, I tell the truth. Maybe it’s because, I don’t think I can get much lower than this, or just because I thought I could trust him.
“Ryan was right about me. I don’t have anyone or anything but nobody cares,” I say, making sure that I don’t catch Brendon’s eye.
“Ryan was wrong. You’ve got your mom and your friends, they all care about you!”
“I don’t have any real friends Brendon,” I answer quietly.
”You’ve got me… and that bowling alley is full of people who want to be your friend,” he says enthusiastically. I don’t say anything but instead shake my head in disapproval. That room was just full of people waiting for something to talk about or laugh at. I couldn’t go back in there and expect anyone to take me seriously.
"Come on Alexis! You’ve got to try at least,” he urges, grabbing my hand and pulling me up from the ground.
“Brendon, I can’t.” He turns around and searches my eyes in confusion.
“What if…what if they don’t like me?” I mumble, looking down at my feet.
“Hey,” Brendon begins lifting my chin, “what’s not to like?”