Trying to live

Chapter 7 (Edited)

I glared at him—he knew who I was, knew my name, so why say it like I was a stranger? Fine, I was talking about us being strangers even if we knew each other, but he didn't have to say it like that. As if I was nothing, without any feelings...even if I would do the same. But why was I feeling like this? Like something had broken even if I didn't feel it?

I didn't even realize that I was leaning so close to him, almost over him—I could've fallen if he had leaned the chair back. I moved to the side without looking at him as they went downstairs.

A little while later, occupied with Leah's glares and the famous awkward silence, Juliette and Henry returned with a big piece of the CC and a photo. Pretty boring without them—I mean, I did talk to Wyatt a little, but then he and Scott started talking about sports. Nothing for me. So I leaned on my cheek and got bored.

Well, I should've stood up and gone back to work, but I didn't, and no one missed me. Juliette stared in my direction with her picture in hand. I smiled at her or at least tried to, and I think I succeeded. "Help me with the pic?" she asked.

I wouldn't have gone with her for a million reasons, but since I was bored and she sounded surprisingly nice, I stood up and gestured for her to follow me like I was a mama duck.

"He talks a lot about you," she said, breaking the silence that had followed us.

I turned around, looking slightly confused. I mean, I had a big fanbase. Everyone talked about me. "Who?"

Juliette spared me a tiny glance before looking ahead. "The guy behind the counter who took our order."

I laughed. "Ah, you mean Dean. Yeah, he's my number one fan." We stood before the Polaroid wall. "You can decide where you want to put your picture." I gestured at the wall full of my pictures and some others.

I had pictures with Earl and Helga, always grinning in the middle like I was their grandchild, whom they were immensely proud of. Matteo always said I photobombed their pictures, but Helga and Earl didn't mind. They loved me.

Some pictures were of Wyatt and me, goofing around. Even if I didn't want to be friends with my former friends, Wyatt and sometimes Jake were exceptions. I had fun with them, and Wyatt was the only person who could make me laugh for real besides my best friend Rose. It's not that I don't find anything funny that other people say; I just tend to suppress my joy because I think I don't deserve it. I faked a lot, even my smiles and laughter.

Juliette taped her picture on a free space and smiled at it. The photo showed her with the CC, smiling at the camera, and Henry staring at her softly. How different he looked when he was looking at her. All I got was a glare full of something unreadable. Something that maybe not even strangers get from him. As I looked at their picture, I realized that once upon a time, he looked at me like that. Once upon a time, Henry and I were this.

Stop, I told myself and looked away, focusing on a picture of Wyatt and me laughing at something. I didn't need to dwell on what was because I couldn't change the past. No one could.

"Don't look at him," Juliette said suddenly, her voice sharp. I turned around, surprised that she looked at me like I'd committed a crime.

"What?" I asked, confused. "Oh, I see—you're one of them. I mean, I've read books that cover that subject, and sometimes—well, mostly—it's weird and tragic, but I never...you know I already said that." I leaned closer to her and whispered, "You like your half-brother, huh? Does he know? When did you—"

"I don't mean him. I mean Henry. Don't look at Henry," Juliette said sharply, with a tinge of annoyance. "You have no right to look at him."

I didn't know why, but sometimes I felt like a mean girl. I found satisfaction in what she said. Even if I really tried to hide it, I smirked at her because I felt stronger, and it told me that she saw me as a competitor, a threat. "Why? Do you feel threatened by me?"

A short laugh escaped her. Juliette saw the surprise on my face but didn't let my smirk slip. "No, quite the opposite. I pity you."

My smirk vanished. She gave me a smile laced with coldness. "I pity you for looking at someone who already belongs to someone else."

I balled my hands into fists, digging my nails into my palms. Juliette moved closer to me until I heard her breathing in my ear. "There's another word that starts with 'p' that I'm tempted to use and say out loud to see your reaction, but I won't. And you know why? Because I think there will be a lot of situations where you will look at him exactly like that."

You're pathetic, if you think you and him will survive. 

Someone always used that word to describe me for holding on to something that wouldn't last, and it didn't, but for different reasons. But still, I couldn't hate that person; I hated that word. Pathetic. It makes you small, makes you think you're nothing, you'll never be good enough, you're unworthy. It hurt.

Juliette left my side as I stood in front of the photo wall, recalling her words. Pitied and pathetic—that was how all of them looked at me.

Was that why they never said anything when I sat down next to them without their consent? I always used to go to them, talk to them without seeing how I looked. Was that why Grams said I should open up so I could see who I wanted to have close to me, who I wanted in my heart, instead of who wanted me?

Did I desire to have the very things and people in my life back that I pushed away instead of letting them be? Was that why I was so...why couldn't I leave what was already lost?

I was bombarded with questions in my mind, questions I couldn't answer and wouldn't because they hurt. It hurt to think about them. Suddenly, I stumbled, realizing too late that I had walked the entire time to the stairs and tripped over one of them. I couldn't hold myself, letting out a small scream, and the only thing I thought about was that I was going to fall, hit something, and receive more pity than I already had.

"I've got you," a deep voice said, grasping my hand and holding me.

A voice I knew too well.