When the final bell of the day rings, all students are supposed to cheer and clear out of the high school. They fly to the buses or their cars and ride away home, forgetting for a blissful moment that they must return the next day.
The hustle and bustle falls deafly on you. You sit on a stone bench outside the front, appearing to watch the bodies fly this way and that. Truth be told, they are all blurs. You can't see past what you feel inside. You swear it is a gaping hole, right there in your chest, and you wonder how no one stops to gasp at the sight.
"Hello! What are you doing?"
Well, someone stopped, at the very least.
You blink and give the boy a brief glance. You don't know him, just figure from the uniform he wears that he is a student like you. Not that it matters.
"I'm Feliciano! What's your name?"
His voice jars you, makes your muscles tighten to ward against the intrusion. He talks a lot, and you don't know why he talks to you.
"Nobody," you answer softly, if only to make him go away. Or maybe not make him go away. It's just that he asked and you might as well answer.
"You know, stone isn't comfortable at all. You should sit in a big squishy couch with a fat kitty to cuddle. Do you have a cat?"
"No."
"I like cats. They're fuzzy and they purr and they don't yell at you. They only scratch you sometimes if you try to tickle their bellies. If you get one, don't tickle their belly, okay?"
"…okay."
"I have two at home, though one's actually my brother's. It's fun taking care of them, except when they eat strange things and leave you yucky gifts to clean up. But it's worth it because they give a lot of love! So what are you doing sitting around here for?"
"…what?" You look up at him now, confused and rather exhausted by his rapid speech. His eyes are a cheerful amber and brim with warmth. He stands there, gazing at you earnestly, arms and legs never staying still as they sway. It hurts for some reason to watch him for too long.
"You're sitting here. People either sit to relax or wait, and I don't think stone benches are relaxing. What are you waiting for?"
You glance around, checking if anyone is staring at you, if the boy is here alone. You can't tell really, with the small crowds of lingering students reduced to distant blurs.
Your fingers grip the knees of your pants reflexively and you respond more unsurely than you mean to. "I'm not waiting for anything."
"Then why don't you go home? It seems kind of silly to me."
Nothing much matters in those moments, and the guy had asked, so you answer truthfully. "I'm not wanted there."
It is enough to make him pause. It makes something in you pause too, pause long enough to catch your breath and hold it hostage. You think you don't want it back.
"Why not?" Feliciano asks, his voice still as insatiably curious as when he first started off.
You shrug. "I don't know. . . I'm just not. Not wanted anywhere really. I guess no one needs me."
"That's a weird thing to say," he replies. "I don't think it's true either. There's someone who needs you. Don't you know?"
You look up at him again. Surely he doesn't mean himself. You had just met him. You almost laugh at the idea.
"Who?" you ask tiredly.
He smiles, wide and bright and all for you. "Here, I'll show you!"
It nearly gives you a heart attack when Feliciano grabs your hand and pulls you up. You don't have time to protest before he is dragging you back into the school. He isn't a large guy, scrawny in fact; you could easily break his hold if you want. But you don't know what you want, so you let yourself be led.
"Oh, here we go!" he says, stopping at a mirror in the hallway. It's a large rectangle, spanning the width of a yard. Virtually no one is around and you can't fathom why the guy stopped here. "I thought we'd have to go all the way to the bathroom."
"What are you talking about?" you ask. "Bathroom?"
"You know, the mirror!" he says, his tone lilting merrily. He spins you gently by the shoulders to look into the mirror. "Looky! Isn't it great?"
"It's just a mirror," you mumble, unable to hold your reflection's gaze for long. You don't want to see all that is there. "What are we doing here?"
"Just look, see?" he asks and gently nudges your chin up to point you to your own reflection. Feliciano's face beams over your shoulder, but he encourages you to look at your own face. "You see that? There's one person. They need you. Don't they matter too?"
Your breath catches again, painfully this time, and you can't swallow it back no matter how hard you try. The feeling swells and beats past the tightened muscles, the clenched jaw, the wide-struck eyes. You've been holding yourself together for so long, and now you watch it all unravel. A long suppressed whimper keens out from the back of your throat, a pathetic sound that makes you want to crawl into the dark and hide. It makes you cover your face, but the tears drip down regardless.
A warmth envelopes your shaking form, and you are powerless against it. It holds you gently, and Feliciano's voice is much closer than before.
"Sometimes we need other people to tell us that. Isn't it funny?"
You can't answer.
What can I say. I like writing emotional breakdowns, possibly because I live in a permanent one. It's cathartic.
Also, people don't give Feli enough credit. The ditzy persona is a front I tell you! He's perceptive as hell!