The Flames In Mind

Ch. 4 // ketchup, "catch up?"

The brisk temperature of the late evening is quite endearing as it nears closer to the summer. The blue sky is basking with colors of the old navy as the time slowly ticks on by. The light sounds of squawking are within the distance of the mile-long park. However, all naturalistic beauty is thrown in the lumpy grass - literally. It's not even funny by the amount of bird crap there is.

But all is ignored because of Bee's constant yammering.

"So you just left her there!?" Bee shrills.

I shrug, hinting to Bee I don't wish to have this conversation. As I guessed earlier, she went drill sergeant and got the kiss out of my throat. Predictable.

"I could care less," I sound eerily impassive as I mumble emotionless words.

"If you cared less Zivali, you wouldn't have told her where the ice packs are," she retorts, gracefully kicking the soccer ball into the net.

I blink. "That was merely common sense, Bee. Besides, I'm over it." I cross my arms, my tattered leather jacket squeaking from the friction. Putting all my weight on my right leg, the heel of my left boot digging is in the grass.

Maybe.

I bit my lip. I wasn't kidding when I said I could less. It was just an impulse by being sexually frustrated for the past several months. It's not that I couldn't find the time. My mother installed cameras not long ago for security measures.

Although none are near my bedroom, as she claims - it still bothers me. So for the sake of my mother's eyes and my sanity - I don't do anything.

Besides, last I checked, I wasn't gay, and I'm still not. 

Currently, Bee and I are at the local park in our area. It's pretty deserted nowadays. An arrest happened here a couple of weeks ago, and people are too f*****g scared to step on the grass, let alone the sidewalk. Bee and I could give a s**t less - we don't let some po-po scenario take away one of our spots.

The soccer net, Bee and I bought it here in our early years of high school. Fun fact, we stole it from our school. It felt liberating after the school board fired the best Soccer coach we had.

Some bullshit about her has s****l affairs with a student. She was the sweetest woman you could ever have as a coach and was too innocent to do something that would ruin the job she loves. My mother said she couldn't do anything about it when they fired her.

From what she told me, I find it hard to believe for my mother always has her secrets.

Might I add Coach Warner is married and a mother of three kids; her desk was decorated with something about them, it was her little piece of home.

But the sight of the pictures always made me sneer, impulsive ones. After seeing them consistently a stoic face became much easier to withhold.

"Come on let's go." Bee snaps me out of my train of thought as she passed on by with the multi-colored soccer ball under her arm.

"For?" I question, quickly catching up to her in long strides. My tone mirrored my frustration.

"Liv, it's been hours - you have to check up on her at some point; it's almost 8:00 pm. Isn't your mom having another one of those business conferences tonight?" She points out.

I groaned loudly. I forgot, f**k. Why do I keep forgetting everything?

Bee grins widely, pearly whites showing at full force as her brown eyes gleaming devilishly. If anyone knew Bee as much as myself, they'd see that smile isn't meant to be a good thing. It's malicious.

"Cute," cheerfully, Bee remarks as she reaches over to my head then messes up my hair. She's probably conjuring up a plan as we speak.

I click my tongue, "You just want to get something out of it." I truthfully replied, trying my hardest to seem disinterest. I slap Beverly's hand away and fix up my hair then stuff my hands in my leather jacket.

Bee chuckles loudly by my remark. "Some random new girl from the west just moved into your house, and you kissed her at first sight. Why do you think I want to, Liv? Mhm?" She acts dumbfounded with a ghost of a smirk lingering along her lips, brunette hair swaying its glossy strands.

I give her the middle finger to end the conversation.

*

To figure out the guest room, the green-eyed girl was in took a couple of whispers shouts from Beverly and I calling each other stupid. The house has two guest rooms but is further apart compared to most of the places. Considering we have multiple hallways that design like a cross. One guest room is near the stairs; Bee checked another one that is at the end of the left corridor. Which happens to be right above the kitchen.

I've always hated that room. 

I made the turn down that hallway and saw Bee squatting down with her ass in full display; face scrunched up as she peaks through the slightly cracked door. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she's taking a good s**t while standing in five-inch heels.

Nearing, the sound creek of the floor becomes apparent - loud enough for my presence to be graced to Bee. Before I could shoot a remark about her position, she puts a single finger above her lips.

"I think she's sleeping," she whispers. "The lights aren't even on." I take a glance into the room and notice the lights are off. Due to the full moon, it's lowly lights illuminate the room with a soft glow. Bright enough to see a body above the sheets.

A body with sharply defined porcelain legs that has my tongue feeling a little heavy. I try not to show the struggling feeling by my slightly furrowed brows.

"She could've at least put on some pants." I mumble distantly. I see Bee smirking from the corner of my eye.

The next thing I feel is two hands pushing me roughly on my back into the room, causing me to trip hard onto the floor, smashing my face in the process. Again.

Loudly, I groan while pushing myself off the floor and then turn my head to glare into Bee's devil brown eyes.

Teeth clench, I growl murderously, "I'm going to kill you."

Bee giggle loudly then slams the door shut before I had time to react. It was so sudden that the raven-haired beauty shoots up from the bed with a frightened terror in her alluring green eyes. Just the sight of them brought that strange constriction in my chest again.

I ignore it.

It takes a moment until her hasty eyes finally realize I am in the room. Or maybe she doesn't? She closes her eyes tightly, opens them again, and then blinks multiple times. Might I add she's rubbing them viciously?

She barely utters a sound other than a lowly groan with her rosy and chapped upper lip arching as if she's in pain. She lethargically scoots to the edge of the bed, swings her – despite incredulous shortness – long porcelain legs off until her seemingly black manicured toes thump on the floor. Her posture does slight wobble, probably from being suddenly woken up. Her black hair sports a cute tangling mess of bed hair, gleaming gray strands not going unnoticed.

My eyes graze the shining metal resting upon both of her milky collarbones, looping from her neck, that disappears into her shirt. Green eyes darken as they continue to be harshly rubbed. Eventually, she reaches to the restroom, mumbling "bathroom" and just barely shuts the door.

I swallow from the softness and grittiness of her voice recalling to her ridden up and heavily wrinkled music tee; the only thing she wore other than her – scratch that I don't wish to remember. I adjust my stance, my arms that were once lamely hanging on my sides acting like wet noodles, now crossed on my chest. My feet that were once monotone statue, all weight shifts on the right, the heel of the left boot resting comfortably.

Instead of dumbly acting like I can give more thought to the girl, my eyes graze what the guest room now embodies. I hate this room. Despite it now looking like her abode with her cute alphabetical (mostly black colored) books on the bookstand, gray anesthetic looking posters and old navy comforter with a silver outline of a rose, I still hate this room.

Of course, there are still a bunch of boxes around; a few of them not opened. I was about to approach the one with words written in small cursive that said Máthair. But the sound of the running water's eerily loud buzzing made me jump. It also made it noticeably visible by how tranquil the room was. It's a small form of music to calm myself down from after seeing herself covered, barely.

Half covered, imploring that fact to my brain on why I shouldn't be giving a f**k.

In due to the treasure hunt my blue eyes search, they land on the lonely pair of pajama shorts that are teetering on the edge of the bed. They have a black background filled with multiple watermelon prints. A smiley face plastered in the middle of each one.

I just grab them without acknowledging the lingering thought that she might be cold without them on.

My combat boots softly thud, trekking towards the bathroom on the opposite side of the room with my spine stiff of nervousness.

Reaching the bathroom, I lean against the door frame c*****g my head to the side, taking notice of the black-rimmed frames through the rectangular mirror that is in front of the short-stacked girl.

That explains why she barely reacted to the sight of me. 

With her lean back towards me, my fingers unnoticeably twitch. I end up subconsciously admire her petite figure. Long inky black hair swaying, brimming with elegance. Milky skin seemingly so smooth; it puts the inside of coconut to shame. Or the creaminess of vanil –

—Screech – 

I halt my mind before it could go any further than that. What the f**k am I thinking? It's bad enough I already get strange familiar feelings from her. Now my eyes are drooling over just the pure sight of her body in front of me?

Fuck no. 

Taking a shaky breath from my intoxicated head, upon getting my thoughts in order, a glance towards the mirror might not have been the smartest route in the book. Blue ones connect with astonishing green while ignoring the egotistical smirk on my lips.

The new girl whips around, keeping our eyes locked on mine as she grips the dark marble countertop causing her knuckles to fade a pearly white. A visible swallow takes a joyride from her well-polished neck.

The longer our gazes hold the more it irks my skin and the hair stand on the back of my neck. I can not shake this strange feeling of familiarity from her; green bearing eyes are not making it simpler. I'm struggling with the fact alone they could easily unravel me.

I'm about to comment that her small hands can break from gripping too hard when I notice her eyes shift downwards.

I squint.

What is she looking at?

It takes me a moment to check out her line of sight, and that's when I remember the watermelon pajama shorts in my hand.

My smirk grows as her eyes connect with mine again – her hands removing from the countertop to slightly tugging on the hem of her music tee; to cover up that particular area of her embarrassment. The one bringing red up to her cheeks as her black hair provides a curtain to shield her face.

If I didn't know any better, I'd say the sight is cute. But I do and choose to repress the idea.

"Took you long enough to notice," my voice felt strained, wasn't apparent, thankfully since she seemed to take it differently by her face reddening even further.

In comparison to her alabaster skin, someone might as well have put ketchup on her face.

I get a feeling she's not very used to human interaction despite ou- her predicament. I can somewhat relate since Bee loves to present my flaws on a silver platter proudly. That girl never ceases to shut her mouth, but I know she means well; one of the reasons why we mesh just fine other than our silly bickering.

Her sharp green eyes are illuminated from the bathroom lights, creating them to be brighter than the crispy meadows. They stare into mine a little longer before quickly shifting down, avoiding all contact.

I see her red lips lightly tremble, a little rough from being chapped. They part slightly pronouncing her words in a mumble that is barely a whisper in my ears.

"You know, if you spoke louder," I pause for a moment, seeing her upper body jump. "I can hear you," I add, the snark in my tone is proudly confident.

"S-shorts," scarcely croaking the six-letter clothing all battered up in my fist on top of my crossed arms. I'd be lying if the sound of her voice didn't make the hairs on the back of my neck, crawl.

Shifting my posture from leaning on the wall to hide my disturbance, I did the one thing without thinking and threw her shorts in her face.

The new girl's shock was evident has her little fingers hastily ripped them off her head. Heedlessly green circles search mine in question before looking at her shorts again.

Then the door.

I didn't register what happened next.

My ass kissed the floor as a hard grunt escaped my lips. I'm starting to think the floor wants me begging on my knees, or my ass; to match the situation.

That little s**t!

Before she had the chance to pull a Bee, I scooted off towards the door and forcefully nudged my boot in between the remaining space.

Cringing from the pain, I growled, "What the f**k?"

Who does this girl think she is? 

Her small figure was barely noticeable through the crack my boot maintained but it'd sure to leave a mark contrasting from the cream-colored door. The black-haired girl kept her face low as a bare whimper escaped her lips. At this point, only two judgments lashed onto my brain.

Either she's extremely anti-social, using any tactic to escape the clutches of a simple conversation; like I what do.

Or. 

She's just shy and doesn't know how to speak.

My bet is the latter from her stuttering earlier. Unless I'm wrong, then I have no clue what else to think that isn't gruesome. A question in her personality nearly slipped on my tongue and past my lips when I heard her stutter again.

"Wh-what..." she took a deep breath. "D-do you want?"

At this point, I couldn't hold myself back.

"Is stuttering a new language, wouldn't have known." I scoffed, clearly pissed off at getting shoved into the floor a third time.

"S-sorry," she squeaks out nearly sounding like scrapping a chalkboard with your nails. I'm watching her bite her lips, making them a little redder and plumper. The struggle to say something is visible in her face full of questions. Suddenly, with just enough force, she pushes my boot out and slams the door shut.

My ears never failing me, I hear her slide down the door and onto the floor with a plop as her skin lightly smacks the marble ground. Plus the mere shadows through the crack – separated between the floor and the door – was palpable.

I groan I'm getting sick and tired of this. I wanted out. Let's hope Bee never did anything to the doorknob.

After pushing myself off the floor, I quickly trudge to the bedroom door just as I wrap my long blunt fingers around the cold metallic knob.

A small sniffle engulfs my ears, my heart thumps.

Fuck. 

Fuck. f**k. f**k. Why the f**k? Please don't tell me I made her cry? 

I know I'm rude, but enough to make one weep? That's never happened except blow fumes out of people's noses.

I'm starting to think there's more to her than just the fact she's shy; some are born but some have reasons. If there's a reason, I probably should have better tack for the lack of holding my tongue.

Still debating – while standing like an i***t – on whether or not to walk out and leave her be. I half-ass want to tell Bee to handle the situation, I get a feeling she'll just try to pry anything out of her in this state.

Yes Bee is much nicer than I am, I can tell you that. Although you put her in a room with someone crying, she becomes a shrink than an unreliable gossiper.

And if this girl has a reason – best to avoid that. Don't get me wrong, Bee can keep her secrets; her list of limits are absolute or burned. Long story short, she can be unpredictable.

Weighing the Pros and Cons if I were to not talk to her or if I do. If I don't, pros are less snot and no burden story to listen to. Might I add, it's less of a problem. I rather not hear a sob story or get caught in the crossfire of someone I barely know. Cons: my mom can grill me, Bee can grill her, or I can roast myself. Might I add an increase in tensions probably isn't a great atmosphere to deal with someone who will be living with you for some time.

But I said it myself, a period – meaning not indefinite.

Hopefully. 

Still, she'd be left alone. Including the fact she can't be with her family right now so not a lot of company; wonder if she's the type who rather be alone? Maybe she misses them? Or isn't sure how to deal with the new setting.

I consider myself a recluse but not too much of it. I love my best friend's company, but even I get moments where I much rather be alone. I feel that every day.

Bee says I'm being brooding, despite putting the light in it, she knows full well of the reason why.

Fuck it. 

I'm going to talk to her and get it over with. Might make her feel a tad better. Plus I'm socially awkward enough. After earlier, I think any relax environment for her might be useful.

Let's hope she doesn't slap me again. I still feel the sting even though it's not physical.

I get to the door and push it open without hurting the girl, just to get it over with. The black-haired beauty leaning against the door, made opening it a little complicated.

"Hey, scoot up," I spoke against the door and softly nudged it open until the pressure was gone. She seemed hesitant, though, her soft cries were anything but jubilant.

"Come on," I urged, I sigh too loudly. She probably thinks I'll just leave. I'm going to prove her wrong. I pushed the door a bit more. "I just want to talk to you; a shoulder to cry your festive snot on. Might feel a little better to know you've destroyed my clothing like I did to you?"

I cringe. Okay probably shouldn't have said that. I talk too much when I get too anxious, my hands are trembling just a little already.

Ignoring my inner turmoil, I prod the door – the challenging weight has dispersed, making my reason for actually talking her, a little more fearful by the passing seconds. Her small cries are still thrumming through the journey to my eardrums despite ignoring my surroundings.

Swallowing the frog in my throat, tuning out the slight hammer of my heart protruding against my chest – I slither through the door and maneuver myself to stand in front of the poor girl.

*

I swallowed thickly.

Clutching to the rational nerves in my brain, I said the only thing that seemed to fit the situation.

"Do you want to cry some more? I can get water," jutting my thumb over my shoulder.

I did a mental facepalm. The f**k is wrong with you? I clenched my thumb into a fist and brought it down to my side, grinding my teeth as a familiar heat flash upon my face.

I'm getting anxious again. When talking to random strangers, I can hold my tongue better and try to act mature, which wouldn't put my immaturity in the spotlight. But it's different with one on one, very different.

People like Bee and my mother, it's whatever - I'm comfortable if you noticed. It's normal.

But what's not normal - for me - is having my mother let someone, sobbing with personal issues, to live with for the rest of the school year. Let alone the fact I have to deal with her existence; it's rattling my head.

Might I add the little detail of my mother already blackmailing my Coldplay tickets? f*****g b***h.

Internally groaning and moaning, I failed to notice the green-eyed girl sniffling beginning to lessen. Still, tiny whimpers never fail to escape red lips.

Ignoring the faint taste of watermelon lip-balm on my tongue, I scrunch my face while looking up at the ceiling as I slowly and awkwardly sit down in front of her. Nearly tripping on my feet didn't make it easier, thankfully, I managed to regain my balance and plop hard on the floor.

My bum hurt a bit, I ignored it and just shifted; my combat boots squeaking against the marbled floor was the result of doing so. I cringe taking a quick glance at the girl in front of me, silently wishing and sorta wondering why the fact I felt the need to respect her kinda-shiny tears.

Where's Google when you need it? How to help a crying girl.

Her arms are blanketed in her ebony hair's thick strands as her head is snuggling deep in her knees. Periodically, you can notice the shakes - sometimes a randomly violent one - from her crying. Or the deep breaths she seems to try to take control of.

The sounds make my ears prickle, and my heart stutter.

It almost as if she's trying to calm herself down, but it's proving to be quite a struggle since they're mostly short and sharp. As if she's losing her oxygen.

I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, often pinching my tongue; pain helps a bit. I don't think she reacted to what I said before if she did - she's good at hiding it.

Her crying and sniffles continue to ripple through my consciousness; at this point, I just figured maybe a hug will do. Might be quite far-fetched since I'm the cause of her state. But I guess it's sweet?

Reducing the imaginary line between her feet and mine, I hesitantly lean over, grabbing her long fingers. I noticed the deep red lines etched on her forearms from her blunt fingernails.

Ouch.

They feel clammy, a little sweaty - not that I cared. I gave her fingers a tug and pulled to drag her out of her fetal position. Her head hung low, quick shakes indicating to not be bothered; black hair turns glossy under the lights.

"Come on," I urged croakily, still nervous from her presence alone. I fail to notice my thumping heart which has gotten worse from her small hands.

After what seems to about ten minutes later, she hesitantly started to move towards me in between my legs. I lead her arms around my neck and she proceeds to bury her face in the crook of my neck whilst awkwardly sitting on her legs. Instantaneously, I am hit the smell of sweet coconut - reminded of earlier's scenario that I try so hard to avoid.

In no more than a second later, her sobs turned into sudden wails, and her hands gripped onto my leather jacket roughly. Still unsure of what to do, I think back to a similar situation and start rubbing her back. Letting her know it's okay.

A sigh nearly passed my lips. A girl gotta cry when a girl gotta cry, I thought; I bit my bottom one hard from producing that remark out loud.

Christ, Bee would've been f*****g taking pictures on her goddamn phone as revenge for yesterday. I guess an actual bee in her closet wasn't a good enough prank.

That's what she gets for putting my face in a fuckboy meme and then showering it with love to the whole school - my mother included.

If anyone sees my face they would assume by the amount of uncomfortableness, I'd want to run away. But clearly, that's not an option when she's clawing my jacket, possibly putting tattoos of dents in my skin.

Amid rubbing her back, I failed to noticed the rising of her shirt which has me unconsciously touch her skin. It felt weird, bumpy sort of. I only feel it for a millisecond before she flinches, pushing herself away from me leaning against the door again. She quickly composes herself in any way she could.

All I could focus on at that moment were those green eyes, shining little flecks from her damp tears creates them to be so vivid and bold. I refuse to let them suck me in, but just getting a glimpse could make me so. I blink a few times to clear up my thought progression.

The girl takes off her glasses harshly wiping the stubborn tears that were once pouring from the two green pools. She takes a deep breath, forcing her intake of oxygen to not be so shaky.

Licking my lips to reduce the lack of moisture, I then scratched my cheek out of a nervous habit quickly speaking to remove any tension that a knife could cut.

"You... you okay?" My voice nearly stutters; shuffling my criss-cross apple sauce to drag me a little further away from the girl that makes my skin prickle in anxiety.

I see her nod too quickly for my liking, her head still hung low, hiding her face with her knees inches away from her forehead. Her hands - in the space under her legs - were fiddling with the ends of her black van branded socks.

Now if only something could lift me from the ground and fly me out of here, something zebra-striped - preferably yellow and black maybe. I scrunch my nose at the thought of shouting for Bee; desperate much?

I take a glance at her in front of me, several ideas going through my head - anything to make things easier for the partly, gray-dyed haired girl. Mostly for myself, I thought truthfully. My blue eyes rake the oddly renovated bathroom in the hope of using some glorifying object as an excuse.

Then I saw it. Perfect.

I stood up walking closer to the marbled counter and grabbed one out of the rectangular box. I spoke, holding the wrapped up object in front of her face. I don't know what I was thinking, but then again, I don't.

"Tampon," I question, my tone laden with amusement little did it hide the bubbling laughter threatening to escape my lips. I did what I could to cover it up with a smirk.

The method works wonders for her head shoots up faster than a bullet, her sharp green eyes focusing on the purple wrapped tampon in my hand. Her crying stops in mere seconds and redness flashes across her milky skin, proudly presenting her embarrassment.

I tightly press my lips together to keep myself from laughing. It didn't stop the chuckle though. The girl's eyes shifts from what's in her face to look incredulously at my eyes, at this point, I had to put my hand over my mouth to keep the rude cackles at bay. My body was shaking, and her wide eyes weren't making it more manageable. Even when she finally speaks.

"Wh-what are you - ..." She stitches her brows together, seemingly to finally understand why I pulled it out. I remove my hand from my mouth, and a s**t-eating grin sprawls itself across my face at her response. "It's not..." she shifts uncomfortably, straightening out her legs, "currently..."

"It matched the situation," I bit back harshly, I didn't care about my attitude. I never cared whatever the f**k flies out of my mouth to satisfy my dry humor.

She visibly gulps at my blatant choice of words, "I don't need it," she mumbles, bowing her head down to avoid all eye contact from my amusing glare.

"Could've said it earlier," I chortle. I snap my mouth shut the second that passed my lips. I knew that comment should've been direct towards me.

Or both of us - for she whispers, "Or you." It was barely audible, but I caught it. The two corners of my lips went down at her comeback. No one has managed to snide back at me unless it was Bee or my mother.

Normally I would've been pissed off at the idea. Instead, It seems quite endearing someone actually has an inkling of guts to talk back at me. A lot of people don't know, I quite like silly bantering regardless of how stupid it can make you look. I have a strange feeling I will plenty of them with her after that comment.

I take a deep breath, put the tampon in my back pocket, and stretch my hand towards her, "Let's go," I practically order her. I think maybe a change of scenery could make things a little easier. Thankfully I know a few too many; not so sure about bringing Bee.

She lifts her head up again and looks at my hand quizzically, I lift my blonde brows up, indicating to hurry up while shaking my hand a little. She seems to ponder on her thoughts before taking a long dragged sigh and delicately thread her fingers through mine. Nearly choking on the feel of her warm palm, including how well they fit with mine, I grip her tightly and pull her off the floor.

Wasn't smooth as anticipated for she clumsily trips on her feet and slams her body onto mine. Thankfully I held us up with my other hand by gripping the edge of the marbling countertop. A weak shrill went passed her lips as I grunted from the force.

Fuck, "f**k," I lightly whisper under my breath without realizing I legitimately cursed out loud. I inhale deeply, again without noticing, basking my nose with the coconut fragrance I find hard to ignore. I had my hand - that was once holding hers - securely around her waist to balance us out; her fists are balling up my crumpled white tee. Her green eyes threatening to put my resolve to mush when she lifted her head in confusion, staring at me.

Averting my eyes from hers, I forcefully put much-needed distance between whose body is burning embers through my veins and mine. Scurrying around her and out the bathroom door, I shout - ignoring the hot tingling through my fingers.

"Let's f*****g go!"