Damn, I Hate You

"Here." I said, passing her my paper. We decided my poem should lead into hers, kind of like when stories are told from various points of view. They switch off from one event to another, ending a bias. She read mine and almost freaked.

"I can't follow this! I suck, how can I compare to this?!" She said, her face full of worry as she continued to stare at the sheet.

"Oh come on, you can write random rhyming shit. It's not like this poem is the best one ever written. Come on." I replied.

"I see her sit upon the bench, tears flooding in her eyes/ Nothing stabs the beasts' heart more than to see an angel cry/ I grab her hand and caress her gently. "What, my dear, is wrong?"/ in response, she sorrowfully answers me, and her problems are a ballad-like song./ Her pulse is the beat, slow and mourning/ Her sobs are harmonious chimes/ Her words, of course, provide the lyrics/ Oh! What terrible times!/ I wish that I could fix it all/ Perhaps, just maybe, I can/ But to fix the world of my sweet angel/ I must first be again a man." she read boredly. "Yeah, I can totally match that." she said sarcastically.

"Well, you can try. I mean, I'll wait. Take as long as you need." I said, and sat patiently in front of her. She began to write and I began to play with whatever was on the table top. Sadly, most of that stuff was in her binder and resulted in me getting dirty looks from her for playing with her stuff.

"I think I'm finally done. Here, try it." She sighed, passing it to me. I began to read:

"No one sees quite how it hurts/ To be in such a state/ To believe that you have tried to win/ but arrived moments too late./ They say some things can't be fixed/ That things were meant to be/ Yet what sort of good could stem from this/ I still fail to see./ Then he comes to solve my dilema/ His shoulder becomes soaked with tears/ As I spill to him the darkened past/ I've been hiding all these years./ What is it that makes an angel?/ Wings, a halo? Nonsense!/ All it takes to be one of these/ Is having a sixth sense/ To feel the pain of others/ and try to help them through./ This so called demon is an angel to me/ But they don't see him like I do."

"That was beautiful." I said, honestly. "And it obviously wasn't personal." I looked down as I noted that.

"What do you mean?" She asked, looking at me questioningly.

"Well, you see, I always tell you the shit on my mind, but you never bother filling me in on your life. It's as if you're writing for me, too!" I said, a little upset. I'm terrible at this. Why does she love me?

"Well, I'm boring. What's there to know?" she asked, looking at me honestly.

"Well, you wanted to fix my life. You wanted it to be perfect. But you must know, in that case, that nothing's perfect. So what's so imperfect in your world?"

She shrugged. "Just stupid stuff. Why-"

"You can tell me." I interrupted. I really wanted to know this, actually. She perplexed me slightly, with the way she was so interested in me and yet included so little about herself.

"It's like this. I'm so boring because I spend all day by myself. My sister stays out as long as she wants because Mom and Dad let her drive the car and give her all sorts of freedom and gas money. My parents have work all day and expect me to do everything myself. What's so interesting about your average independent teenage girl?" I asked.

"Well, why would my angel be crying unless something were wrong?" She looked away as I said that.

"Just... stuff." She said.

"That's not fair. I tell you all the shit in my life going on and you make me feel better. I wanna return the favor. If you don't feel good, tell me." I pretended to sound like an indignant little kid whining because it wasn't fair.

"Well, it's just..." she was getting quiet. What did I do? Crap, stop messing up with her Deryk!
"See, my parents are never around me, but whenever they are, they aren't happy. Like, they don't wanna be around me. They choose to stay away half the time." she admitted. "That's why I... I think that's why I wanted you so badly. It was clear that no one gave a shit about you and that you were alone and independent, and I wanted you to feel complete, unlike me." she confided.

"I thought you started liking me when we were little." I said, concerned. Damn, how long has she been neglected?

"I know... They didn't leave me alone at the house, but they would ignore me. Like, I became a latch-key kid when I was about ten." she said. "But that was ok, 'cause you were one too. We shared something in common. It's just, I went home to be alone for hours, and you went home to hell." She was looking down, almost ashamed to feel pain from being alone. I pulled her towards me and hugged her.

"It sucks to be alone. And your sis is the favorite kid?" I asked. "That's not right. You are way better than your sis. Like, no offense, but she's the biggest bitch in her grade!" I tried to comfort her.

"But like you say, the squeeky wheel gets the grease." she said into my shoulder.

"That's true. But still, that's not fair. I'm proud of you, though."

"Why?" she looked up at me.

"Because you aren't like me. You aren't loud. You don't crave attention. You don't act up because you're mommy and daddy never gave you attention. You sit and behave and do just as your supposed to." I said. "I could never do that! I respect that you can and that you don't need the love of teachers who try to understand you. I appreciate that you're ok truly independent, unlike anyone else I know who's just like either of us." I said, stroking her hair.

"You think I'm the mature one of us?" she asked, as if I were utterly insane.

"Honey, you're not the one sitting around here and playing with bottle caps because you're bored. I'd say you're pretty mature." I smiled at her. Don't cry, my angel. Let the demon fix everything.

"What time is it?" I asked as she tried finding ways to revise her already-perfect poem.

"Uh, three fourty seven." she replied.

"Wanna do something fun 'til I have to go home?" I asked. I had to leave at five today. I should get some mercy for just being in the hospital, but I wasn't going to tempt fate.

"Let's bake cookies!" she said.

"Was that the most random thing you could think of?" I stared at her for a second and laughed.

"Well, I love cookies and I love baking." she responded. Made sense to me.

"Psh, baking's for sissys." I stuck my tongue out.

"Well then it should be perfect for you." she teased and started pulling a box from the pantry in the kitchen. I pretended to be offended and pout. "See, only sissys pout like that." I had to laugh at that.

"God, you're so mean!" I said stupidly to bug her. She didn't really mind, though. "Well at least let me provide some good background music." I said, pulling out my mp3 player. I had some speakers somewhere in my backpack that I always leave in there to entertain people at lunch whenever I don't feel like being funny, which is pretty rare.

"Just make sure it's no shitty music." She begged as Bullet for my Valentine screamed out at us. It was my favorite song by them.

"Good enough?" I asked.

"I guess. Hey, get me some eggs." she commanded, and so our task began.