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I wasn't supposed to fall in love. I was a diagnosed psychopath, void of any feelings toward anyone else but my own, that is what the definition in the dictionary said. My therapist gave me a watered down synopsis, I wasn't stupid. I know there's something wrong with me. My psyche, I'm not your average 18 year old.
You'd think I'd be out partying, planning my senior trip, taking photos with friends and contacting colleges, after all, the best years of my life were finally over. Whoever came up with that stupid quote deserves their ass kicked. Brutally. If High School is even involved in the best years of your life, then you've failed. Miserably.
But, I did meet her. It was a mistake, really. I was skipping my first period as always, English. Used to be one of my favorite classes until the school fired the teacher I liked and replaced him with some hyper sensitive bitch. Now I hate it.
I stood along the exterior of the building I couldn't stand, I take out the pack of camels I snagged from my mother's purse, she was an idiot above anything else, oh, and a whore.
I slide a black sharpie stained lighter from my jean pocket, flicking it on a few times to check its juice before lining the cig against my lips and igniting the nicotine to flow within me. The small high was nice, I let out a mixed sigh, resting my head against the surface behind me, gazing at the blue sky, birds chirping, clouds swirling, sun shining. The high was rising. I liked to blow my smoke to the earth above me, in some twisted peace offering.
I'm interrupted by the sound of twigs cracking, followed by two pairs of combat boots, neither tied. They belonged to a girl, a girl I recognized as a transfer from Boston. She was in my History class.
She looked absolutely ridiculous, a heavy army-like jacket paired with an ankle length dress the same color as her eyes, a deep hazel. She darted a surprised glare, as if I were security, I watch her sigh in relief when she notices my face, she stands beside me, a few feet away, but close enough.
Silently she pulls out a pack of Marlboros from her jacket's large pocket, a sly grin moves her still lips as she catches my hazy leering, she taps the small box against her palm before opening it, pulling a single cig out. After some rustling in her bag she had draped around her, she looks to me with a helpful stare only a smoker would understand.
We don't speak when I light her end, our eyes did the talking. I couldn't help but smile when she coughed a bit, she was new to this. I return to my spot, we smoke. Both releasing the toxic air, silently exchanging our shared hatred for the "school" behind us.
Before I know it she's gone. It was odd, parallel almost. I felt alone now. From that point on, we met silently, smoking a sinful cigarette in a no smoking zone, like those boastful rebels, not once did we speak, but I always lit her cigarette. Always.
Somewhere between unspoken words. I fell in love with her. I couldn't get her out of my mind. Could I be in love? Or maybe it was an illusion. I only read of love in the ancient poetry books I'd find in my basement. Still, even as empty as I felt. Loving someone sounded life changing. And it was.
I began to search for her face in the crowds in school when I attended, I never saw her aside from History class. She was always sat in the back, I couldn't move seats so it was no use. Knowing she was there was enough, her energy caused the nerves within my body to crackle like fire. It was new and often frustrating.
Until one day. The day we exchanged words for the first time. It was life altering alright.
"Hey, Mr. Harmon."
I step inside the in home office of my psychiatrist, Ben Harmon. Whom I've been seeing off and on for a few months, he was alright. Fun to talk too, mostly.
He meets me at the door with a forced grin, I could tell he wasn't in the mood for a session, but he needed the money and I needed the help. What are you gonna do?
"Tate, how was school?"
He shuts the door, I drag my feet down the small hallway between the entrance and the office he saw me in. I shrug and shake my hair with my right hand.
"It was alright."
"Good to hear-"
The sound of a door slamming up the stairs of his home halts his lips, his aging face tenses as he looks up the banister. I do the same. I knew he was married, but I'd never seen his wife. Or kid. I couldn't remember if he had a daughter or son.
The sound of footsteps slapping against wood answered my question, as the stranger came into view my jaw dropped slowly then all at once.
She raises a brow as she nears the final step.
"Violet, I have a session. I told you, stay upstairs."
Ben grunts. She shakes her head, trying not to meet my heavy glancing.
"I'm hungry. It's my house too."
I've never heard her speak, not once. But God, it suited her.
He twitches an eye as she flips her head to the side, smiling at me shortly before disappearing into the kitchen I presume. My heart was heavy. Fuck.
"I'll have to cancel today. I forgot I have my own doctor appointment." He bursts, embarrassment took over his face. "Okay, that's fine." I breathe out, hoping she'd turn around the corner again.
He runs into his office quickly, I stand outside of it, watching him through the glass doors, he was as much of a mess as I was.
"Hey."
A hard tap pulls me away from the man struggling through paperwork, I turn to my left and look down at the girl that captured my mind.
"..Hi."
She bobs her head to the side as she grins. She had dimples, they were faint, but oh so beautiful. Reaching up, she pulls back her soft brown hair behind her ear, A shallow chuckle erupts before she speaks again.
"Thanks for always spotting me. I always forget my lighter."
In that moment, I felt a part of me die, wither away. I feel a giddy laugh build in my chest, I hold it as I keep my composure.
"Don't worry about it."
I found out later, she never forgot her lighter, she carried it like a bible.