Ocean and Atlantic
and she loves every one
Douche bag.
It’s still the first thing that pops into my head when I really look at John O’Callaghan.
It’s the very first word that my mind conjured up when Nova first introduced him to me: stupid formal handshake and nod included. With a cap cocked sideways, he’d looked like any other typical, wannabe high school boy: a douche bag who thought he was better than everyone else.
And in the beginning of their relationship, my judgment proved to be correct.
But as they matured, both he and Nova, he gained a little more maturity and she – well, Nova really never changed.
She was always kind of a loose cannon – per say. Nova McClain is – was – a girl who didn’t always abide by rules, and I suppose it’s not really a bad thing from my perspective. Closed off, I need someone who willing to boss me into experiences and to try to get me to do something I've never done before.
John stands in my hospital room, glancing everywhere but at me. His eyes are rimmed red, like he’s been crying a lot or holding back tears a lot. His jeans are wrinkled and hanging off of his non-existent bottom despite the leather belt looped through and fastened. He has a stupid shirt on – one Nova would have frowned upon to me when he was out of earshot, and his left shoe is untied.
I don’t know what to say to him. After all, what do you say in the situation?
I’m sorry Nova died. I’m sorry I haven’t been telling anyone what really happened out on that cliff. I’m sorry that I can’t switch places with her. I’m sorry that we jumped, and I’m especially sorry that this entire thing happened in the first place.
All seem plausible, but all open up a can full of sheer awkwardness, and not even I want to deal with that sort of conversation just yet. With a shrink evaluating me – or attempting to, with my parents’ wishes and my doctor’s recommendation – I’m sure any wind of any of those would land me in deeper waters than the ones Nova and I practically dove head-first into.
His words hang in the air for a long time before I even somewhat act like I heard him, and even my response is meek: I nod in acknowledgement.
“I’ve been here almost every day, you know… No one would let me in or anything, but I was here.”
I only nod again, because, really, what can you say to your dead friend’s ex-boyfriend?
It’s still the first thing that pops into my head when I really look at John O’Callaghan.
It’s the very first word that my mind conjured up when Nova first introduced him to me: stupid formal handshake and nod included. With a cap cocked sideways, he’d looked like any other typical, wannabe high school boy: a douche bag who thought he was better than everyone else.
And in the beginning of their relationship, my judgment proved to be correct.
But as they matured, both he and Nova, he gained a little more maturity and she – well, Nova really never changed.
She was always kind of a loose cannon – per say. Nova McClain is – was – a girl who didn’t always abide by rules, and I suppose it’s not really a bad thing from my perspective. Closed off, I need someone who willing to boss me into experiences and to try to get me to do something I've never done before.
John stands in my hospital room, glancing everywhere but at me. His eyes are rimmed red, like he’s been crying a lot or holding back tears a lot. His jeans are wrinkled and hanging off of his non-existent bottom despite the leather belt looped through and fastened. He has a stupid shirt on – one Nova would have frowned upon to me when he was out of earshot, and his left shoe is untied.
I don’t know what to say to him. After all, what do you say in the situation?
I’m sorry Nova died. I’m sorry I haven’t been telling anyone what really happened out on that cliff. I’m sorry that I can’t switch places with her. I’m sorry that we jumped, and I’m especially sorry that this entire thing happened in the first place.
All seem plausible, but all open up a can full of sheer awkwardness, and not even I want to deal with that sort of conversation just yet. With a shrink evaluating me – or attempting to, with my parents’ wishes and my doctor’s recommendation – I’m sure any wind of any of those would land me in deeper waters than the ones Nova and I practically dove head-first into.
His words hang in the air for a long time before I even somewhat act like I heard him, and even my response is meek: I nod in acknowledgement.
“I’ve been here almost every day, you know… No one would let me in or anything, but I was here.”
I only nod again, because, really, what can you say to your dead friend’s ex-boyfriend?
♠ ♠ ♠
Here's an especially short chapter. I should be doing something else, but whatever. I'll just update again instead. I've changed Mr. Oh's pictures on the summary page. I think the first is very well-suited for this chapter haha.Looking for another JohnOh story? Seeking Tate Give it a try and let me know what you guys think. Thank you to those who have commented/recommended/subscribed!