Ruin (9 page)

“That you like to write?” I finish for her.

She cocks her head and looks at me. “I guess. I haven’t told anyone yet. Well, except my parents.”

I smile. “You should show people more often. Be proud of the things you can achieve.”

“I am proud. I just don’t think anyone wants to know. Just like my dancing. It’s just … what I like to do, but I’m kind of by myself in that department.” She chuckles.

“Tell me then. I wanna know,” I say, putting down my paper and pencils on the table next to me. Then I sit back in the chair and look her straight in the eye. “Tell me about yourself.”

Her lips part, but she doesn’t respond. I guess she must be a bit confused. And I guess I’m not the only one no one is ever interested in. But I’m interested in her, and I want her to know that. I want her to know at least one person cares, even if she doesn’t feel the same way.

I can accept that. Heck, I’ll take anything, just as long as I can make her happy again.

Because after what she’s been through, that’s what she deserves the most.

A clean slate.

And a better life.

I just wish I could say the same about me.

Maybell

I check my phone for messages, but I don’t have any, which is weird since I sent three messages to my best friend about my accident. She never replied, even though I can see she read them.

I lower my phone and sigh. I thought she’d come to visit me, or at least give me a call or a message back, but she doesn’t seem to be as invested.

I thought we were best friends. Guess I misjudged.

After two years of hanging out together at lunch, you’d think you know a person.

But ever since we graduated and went our separate ways, things just haven’t been the same. I rarely see her. She’s always out with her new friends.

And now, I’m stuck here.

Maybe we never really were the friends I thought we were.

“Cheer up, honey,” Mom says as she grabs her cup of coffee from the table and takes a sip. “We didn’t come here to see you mope around.”

“I know. I just wanted to see if she sent something back.”

She gives me that ‘I feel sorry for you’ look that she always does whenever I’m sad. “Maybe she’s just busy with other things right now, and she didn’t read the message.”

“Oh, she read it all right. I can tell from the app.” I sigh. “Anyway, not that it matters. You’re here.”

“Right …” She takes another sip. “But your dad and I have to go too.”

“What? Why?” I ask. “You only just got here.”

“I’ve got a meeting in an hour or so.” My dad throws his cup in the trash.

“But it’s Saturday,” I say.

“Yeah, but there’s something important they want to discuss, and I don’t want to miss it.”

“For all we know, it could be a promotion.” My mom sounds all giddy.

“Oh … that’s great,” I say.

“Yes, we’ve been hoping for it for so long.” My mom smiles and grabs Dad’s leg, squeezing it. I’m glad she’s happy.

“But you’ll be okay, right? You’ve got your laptop, your phone.”

“Of course,” I say, nodding.

“Besides, you’re tired … right?” Mom says, but her question doesn’t sound like a question at all.

“Yeah … so sleepy.” I fake yawn a little.

I’m not tired … but if this is what she needs to give herself an excuse to go, then I’ll give it to her. No use arguing about it. I don’t want her to stay against her will, either.

Not when she and Dad are more interested in finding out if he got a promotion.

Mom and Dad get up from their seats. “We’ll see you in a few days then. Don’t be too much of a brat to the nurses, May,” Mom jokes, but there’s always a sliver of truth in what she says.

“I won’t, Mom.”

“Bye!” Dad says. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite you!”

I wave at them until they’re gone. And then I’m alone again.

Gosh, I wish they could’ve stayed just a little longer. Maybe I wouldn’t feel so lonely then.

But then, from the corner of my eye, I spot that same guy again. Alexander.

I yell out. “What are you doing here?”

***

Alexander

“Uh … just doing my rounds,” I answer, laughing it off like it’s no big deal, but it’s a big, fat lie.

I came here to see her.

But then I saw her with her parents and thought it wasn’t such a good idea. So I turned around … except I didn’t leave. I couldn’t. Not when I heard the awkward conversation from that room. How unbelievably uninterested her parents are in her situation.

I discreetly inch toward her room. “Just seeing how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine,” she says, shrugging it off, but I can tell from the way her eyes glint that she’s not ‘fine.’

“Of course, you are,” I muse, folding my arms as I walk inside.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does … I can tell you’re upset.”

She frowns. “No, I’m not.”

“You don’t have to hide it,” I say.

She raises a brow. “I’m not hiding anything.”

I chuckle. “I’m the master of hiding my emotions. Don’t think I can’t see it when others do it.” It’s the truth. I do it every day, and no one notices.

“Hmpf.” She looks away.

“It’s okay to be angry.” I am too, a lot, and usually for no reason. But she has a good reason.

She doesn’t respond, so I sit down on the chair next to her bed. “Your parents didn’t seem to be very interested in what you had to say.”

She looks at me, her eyes filled with broken promises. “They had other things on their minds.”

“Like your father’s promotion …”

Her eyes narrow. “You were eavesdropping.”

“No …” I say. “I just happened to catch a few words.”

She shakes her head. “Sure, you did.”

And then she throws her pillow at me, which I barely manage to catch. “I’m no liar.” Laughing, I throw the pillow back at her.

“No, you just like to twist words until they fit your agenda,” she quips.

“Exactly.” I smirk.

She rolls her eyes, but I can tell she’s holding a laugh too.

It’s quiet for a few seconds, after which I decide to say something stupid again. “I know the feeling.”

She throws me a peculiar glance and says, “What do you mean?”

“Well … my parents didn’t always understand what I wanted, either.”

***

Before

I learned at a very young age how cruel the world could be.

I watched the other boys in class get firetrucks and Hot Wheels for their birthday gifts, while I was stuck with a box of pens. They laughed at me when I said I’d never been on an airplane or traveled abroad. My mom and dad couldn’t afford what most people could, and I always knew.

Even when they didn’t tell me, deep down, I knew.

When they couldn’t buy presents for Christmas.

When we couldn’t go to the zoo or the amusement park like all the other kids.

When I couldn’t go to badminton after school.

When they struggled to gather every last penny they had to buy some Chinese takeout on New Year’s Eve.

Kids shouldn’t know these things. Kids shouldn’t know they can’t get new clothes or new books. Kids shouldn’t know they don’t have the same things other kids have because their mom and dad are too poor. And other kids shouldn’t know this, either.

Yet that was the truth. My truth.

The life I’ve lived my entire life.

I don’t know any better than having second-hand clothes and hand-me-downs from my cousin.

The furniture has scratches and blotches on it, and all the electrical equipment in the house is falling apart.

Now that I’m finally old enough to work, I managed to gather enough money to buy a brand-new computer. When I get home, I’m always so happy to see it and marvel at the fact that I worked for it, fair and square. My blood, sweat, and tears are in that thing, and I’m proud of it.

Too bad I’m the only one who knows.

Because when I come home and immediately run up the stairs, of course, my dad’s gonna yell.

I always try to avoid it, but I can never outrun his voice.

“Well, hello to you too!”

“Hi, Dad,” I say, quickly closing the door of my room.

Unfortunately, he comes up within five minutes too. Right when I’ve started up my favorite game. The game I always play when I’m finally home from school or work and just want to relax. The only place I feel at peace, where I can do what I want and disappear, if only just for a few hours.

Until my dad barges in.

“What are you doing?” he growls.

“Nothing …” I minimize the screen.

“Bullshit. I saw you starting up that stupid game again.”

“Dad …”

“Guys, don’t fight, please,” Mom yells all the way from the bathroom.

“No, aren’t you supposed to do homework or something?” my dad growls.

“No, I’ve already finished.” That’s a lie, but I just don’t want to think about it. For now. I mean I’ll do it at some point … I just don’t want to do it now. Not when I feel this shitty.

“Of course, you have,” my dad says. “Just like you’ve cleaned up your room.” He gazes around at the clothes scattered over the floor.

“I’ll clean it up later today.”

“Sure, you will.” He sighs, the disappointment practically dripping off him. “It’s always the same with you. Always preferring to play games instead of living in the real world.”

“Please, just let me do this,” I say.

“Why? So you can become an addict?”

“I’m not. I just want to relax for a while. Is that okay?”

“You
are
an addict; you just refuse to see it!” His voice is getting louder again, and I don’t like it one bit.

“I’m not. Please, just leave me alone,” I mutter.

“No, it’s time you manned up. You need to work on your school, your homework, and your grades. For fuck’s sake, Alex.”

“Shut up!” I yell, my chair scooting back as I jump up from my seat.

“Don’t you fucking talk to me like that, you little brat,” my dad screams.

“Calm down!” My mom tries to interject, but it’s no use. He doesn’t listen to her.

“Just get out! Leave me the fuck alone!”

“You ungrateful shit. Have you forgotten who’s given you everything he owns? Who’s raised you to be the best man you can ever be?”

“Who yells just as much as you do? Who knows just how poor we are?” I reply. “Yeah, I know damn well. Fuck, I’m so fucking proud of this family.”

“You feel that way? Really?” He walks out the door and slams it shut. “Fine. Get addicted for all I care.” And then he stomps down the stairs.

However, I can still feel his booming voice all the way down the steps … and I can still feel his words linger in my ears.

Telling me how I should do better at school. How I should’ve played a sport instead of sitting behind my computer all day long. How I should stop eating so much, even though I do it because of how bad I feel. How I should make some friends instead of coming home alone every day.

How I fail at my life.

I know he’s only trying to make me a better man.

I also know he’s right.

Still … it doesn’t make me want to stop playing this game and leave this computer.

And I don’t think anything ever will.

***

Now

“Oh …” She looks down at her sheets, which are crumpled in her hands. She seems a bit baffled.

Fuck. Did I say too much?

I think I did.

Shit.

“I’m so sorry,” she says. “I didn’t know.”

“No, it’s okay …” I say, trying not to make a big deal out of it.

Why did I tell her all of that? Jesus.

“It’s not. I’ve been whining about my parents so much that I didn’t realize others may have had it worse.” She looks at me with her perfect green eyes and sighs. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” I say, adding a smile. Damn, I didn’t want her to feel bad. That’s the opposite of what I wanted to achieve. “Please, don’t be sorry. I just told you a little too much personal shit. Sorry, I didn’t mean to rattle on. It just came out.”

“It’s okay. Really. I’m more worried about you.”

Suddenly, she grabs my hand and squeezes.

She’s actually holding my hand.

I can feel her warm skin against mine, her heart pulsing through her veins.

Oh, God.

Her cheeks turn red, and she immediately pulls back her hand the moment she sees me staring at it.

“I just wanted you to know you’re not alone,” she mutters, while I can’t keep my eyes off the hand she just touched.

It tingles.

My fingers flinch and a few red spots appear on my neck, like they always do when I get nervous.

C’mon, Alex, get a grip.

I clear my throat and quickly scratch my neck. “But enough about me. How’ve you been doing? How is your book coming along?”

Her face lights up as she begins to tell me about the amount of words that poured out of her today, and how many chapters she’s already finished. It makes me happy to look at her and see her smile, even when she’s down. She doesn’t often look at me, her eyes skittish when they make contact with mine, but that’s okay because every second she does look at me is a blessing.