Damn, I Hate You

I wrote that so easily. It just kind of came from deep down. I wonder if that's why it's so easy for him to write those dark poems-

"Wow, that's much better. I'm glad we changed it up a bit. I think that's a really good one. It's cool, it's like both of our characters are sad and longing for love." He said. Aw, is he a little romantic?

"Yeah. Kinda ironic, too, that she thinks he doesn't want love and yet that's all he wants deep down."

"Yeah, but irony is always best in love stories." he commented.

"So how did you get so good at writing poems? YOu do it so naturally, as if it's just talking!" I started up a conversation. A nerdy one, but conversation none-the-less.

"It just kinda comes to me. I mean, honestly, it is second nature to write poems. I mean, it's the simplest form of prose. Just give your words a rhythm and make a few simple rhymes." he replied.

"But you make them sound so realistic, like, the emotion in the character and all." I said. He looked down slightly.

"Well, I am a person, so I do feel stuff and can incorperate that into my writing. Duh." He said back rudely. He must not want to admit that he actually feels that way. I don't see why he feels that way. He seems pretty normal and good to me. I mean, other than the way he always argues with teachers... and students... and always gets in trouble for "acting out"... maybe he isn't all the normal.

"That makes sense. You know, you're not a monster-"

"I know, I've seen enough movies to know what they feel like, though." He said, his eyes colder than I'd ever seen them. It was weird. There was a tinge of sadness hidden behind his cold stare, and yet he seemed like all he wanted to do was intimidate me into not continuing on the topic. "Psh, if I thought I were a monster, I wouldn't use my words and mind so much, would I?" He asked reasonably. That does make sense...

"You, however, must be a real sap to have written that." He said, gesturing to my paper.

"It's good, at least." I defended myself.

"Well," he yawned, "I think we're done. I should get going home, now." He put his paper away and began to pick up his backpack.

"You don't wanna stay and just chill? I don't like being alone and no one gets home for another hour." I said.

"Wait, what time is it?" He asked.

"Five fifteen." I replied. He looked anxious, as if it were really difficult to decide. Then he looked up as if doing a hard math equation.

"Uh... I think I can stay another half hour, but I gotta be home by six, so I can hang out for a lil bit if you really want." he finally said.

"Cool. So you wanna watch tv?" I offered. He set his stuff down and followed me into the living room. I was suddenly embarrassed by how small my television set was. He seemed comfortable as he sat down on the couch, though, and didn't object when I sat down next to him.

"So are you one of those chicks whos afraid of silence of do you just not like feeling abandoned?" He asked me.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, that's usually why people don't like being alone; they're either afraid of silence of they don't like feeling abandoned." he replied as if it were common knowledge.

"Well, I guess abandoned." I said, curious as to why he was asking such questions.

"Oh. I used to be the same way. Well, more so scared of silence, but I was only scared of silence 'cause I was afraid that no one would ever want to be with me and I would be abandoned, so yeah, I'm the same way." he assured me.

"Well, I bet you prolly felt a li'l abandoned 'cause-"

"'Cause my dad always had work and I would be alone at my house all day since I was six after my mom died?... Shockingly no." He joked. How could he smile at such a sad joke?

"You never spent after school with your friends?" I asked.

"I, uh, got into a lot of trouble for running my mouth when I was little, actually, so I spent a lot of suspended days at my house, which usually meant I was grounded and couldn't chill with my friends after school." He said, his smile a little faded, but rising back quickly, "Then my dad stopped grounding me 'cause I almost set the house on fire when I was bored."

"How did you do that?" I asked.

"Well, when you turn on a stove, make sure all paper plates are far away from the flame." he said. "Yeah, that was the first time I broke a bone."

"How did you break it by almost setting your house on fire?"

His eyes looked worried. Something tells me he didn't mean to say that. "Oh, well, 'cause I got scared and while running to the sink to get a cup of water to throw, I slipped on an ice cube and landed wrong on my wrist." he smiled. Wow, he could look back at anything and laugh. Maybe that's what makes me so attracted to him...