Chapter Twenty-One - I'm Sorry
Alright, what to say? I don't know exactly how to start up a conversation.
I'm bad at it already and now that the situation is awkward, it's even harder. He was the one who suggested he had something to say, yet he hasn't spoken a single thing.
I knew it. He's still mad at me. My guess is that he didn't confront me early to not cause any ruckus in the classroom. He's most likely here to reprimand me and make my eyes roll to the back of my head out of boredom with my soul crushing as the seconds tick by.
"I'm sorry."
I blinked, then gazed at him. He continues, ruffling his tousled olive locks of hair. "—I went too far. I was just worried about you. I know that I don't really have any right to restrict you wherever you want to go---but you never really go out and I thought something happened."
"I'd be responsible for it and I would feel guilty about it," he murmured slowly, words bearing so much weight in his tone.
He turns to look at me sheepishly like a dog with droopy ears. I do admit that took me by surprise. He was so angry that I was expecting to be punched at the face—not that he'd do it, but there was that possibility.
"Will you forgive me?"
Honestly, he didn't even have to apologize to me. He did it out of concern and I might've done the same thing, just that I wouldn't have blown a fuse as much as he did.
"Apology accepted."
He lets out a faint smile, releasing a relieving sigh as if he just went through the scariest, toe curling moment of his life. Tch. Dramatic as usual. He should audition for a play or something, he'd be perfect.
"Do you want to stay a bit longer?" he suggested, leaning back with his shoulders now more relaxed and his arms spread out to his back. "---the moon looks beautiful tonight."
His eyes were heavily fixated by the gleam of the full moon and I followed, lifting my own head too. I didn't have anything to do and there's no one waiting for me back home. I could stay a bit longer, maybe even admire the stars that twinkle like lights. The stars feel so near and yet realization strikes you that they're millions of light years away. It's just parallax or whatever that was.
"What do you want to be, Avery?" he inquired, breaking the short silence that wrapped the space between us.
Me? What exactly do I want to be? I've always thought about it—at least for preparation when the time comes that I'd have to pick a choice; yet I'm still left indecisive.
I don't really have goals or dreams in life—maybe to someday have all the original collections of Keaton's books—but nothing serious to mention. When it comes to occupation, I don't really have any preferred profession. It seems scary and isolating that other people know what they want in life, while I have no clue.
"I don't know," I replied after a long pause. "---I don't have any dreams and I don't know what I'm good at."
"You?"
"Me?" he croaked, pitch slightly high, then cleared his throat. "---well... I'd like to be a veterinarian."
I nod. "Hmm. That kind of suits you. You really like animals—especially cute things do you, Tom?"
He coyly smiled, scratching his lightly tinted cheeks with his pointer finger. "You think so?"
"If anything, it's like your calling," I assured him, lying on my back and continued to stare up above, my hands under my head as cushions.
There's a high possibility a worm or some bugs would caress my skin or might even enter my uniform---but I'd worry about it when it really happens.
"I really love animals," he trailed off, a warm and loving gaze fills his eyes. "---I want to take care of them and see them happy, smiling, and rid of pain. That's why I want to become a veterinarian."
I sigh. "I wish I had a dream too. I just don't really know what I want to be. A teacher? I hate children. Doctor? As much as I'm not grossed out with guts and intestines, I'd rather not touch one myself and end up killing someone. Engineer? I hate math---anything math centered is a no."
"How about being a writer?" Tom chimes in. "---you love Keaton and poems or anything related to English—so why don't you become a writer?"
That...might not be bad. I snort. "I don't know. I may love reading, but I'm not sure if I can be a writer myself. I suck at telling stories."
"But you haven't tried it yet," he insisted. "---what if you're really good?"
"Even if I'm good or not, that's not the matter at hand," I stated, looking intently at him who in turn eyed me back with the same intensity. "---it's all about luck and talent, really. Even if your story is that good—if you're not lucky, then nobody would ever notice your book and I'd probably just be a failure amateur who barely makes a living."
He tilts his head. "We don't know about that. You haven't tried it yet, so don't dismiss the other possibilities."
I helplessly sigh, lighting smacking his shoulder which in turn slightly jolt. "You're so optimistic. That's going to bite you sooner or later in life."
"Hey!" he playfully scowled, rubbing his affected shoulder. "---and you're a pessimist yourself."
"We're opposites, huh," I say under my breath. "---I'm rather a realist if you ask me. I can't go through life being entirely positive about every misfortune I encounter."
"You never change," he shakes his head, giving up to my decided outlook in life. "----but I guess that's okay."
We sat in silence after that, just indulging in the bleak November evening; the stars looking like dots up above and the moon barely showing with the clouds hiding it. It feels calming and soothing that even without words, we both knew how we felt about it.
"I'm glad I'm friends with you, Avery," he broke the silence, lifting his head to look at me with a charming smile. It's genuine and affectionate that it made my heart slightly raise.
"I never really clicked with other people," he looks away after that, darting his gaze back to his shoes with a contempt look on his face.
"Don't you have friends from your old school?" I tilted my head, eyeing him in confusion and bewilderment. If anything, he's bound to have friends—heck, even a circle of them with how his demeanor is.
People like him are technically loved by everyone; kind, sweet and friendly—that's who he is, unlike me who's too gloomy and insensitive to be with.
"I did," he replied, bending forward and plucked a couple of weeds from the ground, his fingers clenched up firmly. "---but I didn't really belong there. They were nice people and we talked about things—but I still felt like we just didn't click at all."
"They haven't even texted me or at least updated me with what's going back there," he grinned sourly. "----they promised they would. I guess we both knew we really... didn't connect at all. I don't blame them."
"There were times I was reluctant in getting close to you Avery," he admits, his locks of hair slightly swerved with the small breeze. "---I was pushing myself towards you, barging and making you feel uncomfortable. I thought that maybe you were just lonely—that you needed a little push to open up again."
"You'd get really angry and you'd snicker at me most of the time," he chuckled lightly. "---sometimes it made me down; that "ah, she really hates me." I thought for a second that maybe I should leave you alone. I know that not everyone wants to be saved; that some people just really want to be alone—but it seemed really lonely."
He intently eyed me. "So I stayed. And I don't regret it."
"Well, thank you for staying then," I replied, staring at my own shoes since I couldn't bear to look at him—not when he's saying things that really makes me embarrassed of myself. "---I might not be here, watching the stars with you."
"That's why I have decided," he blurted, standing up from his sitting stance and pats down the dirt and grass cuts that stuck on his pants.
I could only stare at him, wondering where he could be going.
Our eyes met and his were filled with such intensity and variety of emotions that I couldn't pinpoint them one by one. He smiles widely at me, albeit it seems forced and pained.
He's always smiling—even when he's sad or slightly pissed. That was one of his flaws. He couldn't just bring himself to be honest most of the time.
With one deep sigh, he declares the words that I thought I'd never hear.
"I'm giving up my feelings for you, Avery."