she's not crazy, she saved you
Scott was still a little unsure about this.
Yeah, the woman was behind asylum bars and everything, but it still didn't drop the worried load on his back. He couldn't even go to sleep without checking at least ten times inside of his closet. Or talk to a stranger without getting scared that they were going to hurt him, or worse, that they were slightly psychotic. Even if that woman, was more than slightly, she was off the edge of it. It still kept him up at night.
It kept him scared to walk around corners, so freaking scared that she would appear again, wanting revenge. He hated it. He felt small and weak and often times, like an idiot. Jules tells him he isn't, and he's thankful she's still around, but he doesn't believe her.
The therapist says it's okay though, trust is going to be hard to build again, but it'll surely come. Years, or maybe months, his trust will come back and he prays it will.
Anyway, in order for that to happen, he has to talk to her again. Bess.
She may or may not have been a creep, slightly, yet not psychotic, but she still saved him. She still almost died trying or died trying to get a hold of the girl. He doesn't know, so honestly, he owes her thanks and an apology. Looking across the hall, at the quiet girl taking out her books, he's sure it wouldn't hurt. Jules told him he didn't have to do this, but he does. In order to move on, in order to trust again, he needs to do this, he needs to talk to Bess. She's a step closer to him stitching up his open patches. She's his recovery.
Taking a large breath, his head hung, Scott steps slowly towards the pale, frail girl. Her hair loose, along with her white, floral t-shirt, and white sweater, she looks up at him, noticing his careful steps. "Scott." Her eyes grow wide, like when a puppy's lost, and he softly relaxes. She's not crazy, she saved you.
"Hey." He laughs, nervously, rubbing his neck in comfort. He doesn't know how to start or what to say, but he tries to look at her. She isn't the one who locked him in her basement, and she surely doesn't really even look like the kind, so he takes a bold move. "Hey, uh, look Bess," his binder starts to slide from his fingers, due to the sweat forming. He's scared. He can't do this, he can't even breathe all that well.
"Your leg looks better." She comments, smiling lightly, while the bangs cover her eyes. He wishes he could see the kindness strike through them though, but thanks to the strands in front, he can't. It loosens his nerves a little though, at least he knows there's kindness there. She's not crazy. Breathe Scott, breathe.
"Yeah," he manages, smiling that he could breathe, "it uh, feels a lot better. Three months is a while."
She laughs, softly, and almost too quietly, that he's not even sure how he caught it, but he did. "I think you're going to get better."
"What?" He blurts, confused, not sure what he heard. He thinks it was a statement of hope or something along the lines of getting better. But, he's not sure it was, so he asks, hoping that she wouldn't bring his hopes high. He wants to get better. He needs to get better, for himself, and Jules, and his dad. He needs this.
"I think you're going to get better." She says higher, almost uncomfortably even, Scott knows she's not used to speaking loudly. But the small grin he had on his face, spreads a little, because he's happy that she thinks that way. No one really thinks that way, and some people are even telling him to stop walking. The once king of the school is the now joke of the premises. It hurts, sort of, the way they talk behind his back. But he knows, it doesn't matter, they can't tell him what he can and can't do. Realizing he drifted off for a sec, Scott chuckles, rubbing his neck again in embarrassment.
Bess only chews on the bottom of her lip. He doesn't know if she's thinking or drifting off as well, but he swallows and manages. "Thanks. For uh, saving me."
"Oh," she mutters, lowering her head, "anyone one else would have done it."
"But it wasn't anyone else," he stops her, locking his eyes on hers, trying not to lose her attention just yet. "It was you, so thank you. And I'm sorry."
She finally looks up, and he's sure he's heard the bell ring. But her nervous stance, and the way she's playing with her ripped sweater, only keeps him there. She isn't sure of what to say, and he's noticing that, but it doesn't move him an inch, not until she mumbles out a small layer of words. "It's okay."
He pries his view away from her eyes, and stares at the hallway behind him, remembering that there's going to be a class. He knows that it's okay to go now, and the silence is a gesture for him to leave, but his body is still. His eyes remain on hers, maybe because he isn't sure to trust her just yet, or because he's scared to turn his back. But he finally gives in, and smiles lightly, locking his grasp on his books. "Well," his mouth purses for a moment, "see you around."
He doesn't wait for her to say bye or the same. He just leaves and tries not to turn in worry.
. .
He has an English book report due next week, and something about being at home scares him, so he takes the library in turn. It's quieter, better, and he doesn't really notice the load of his back when he's there. He just pays his attention towards the thousands of shelves filled with books. He kind of hopes it's packed, or begs that it is, because he doesn't want to sit alone and constantly look over his shoulder if he hears something.
Scott just doesn't want to be alone anymore.
It's unsettling though, that Bess is there, comforting but unsettling. He's not alone, but he's still not sure if he's safe. He almost even throws his bookbag strap over his shoulder and leaves, when he sees her sitting in the corner. She's focused, and her hands are toying with the ends of her hair, and he's never really seen her like that. Or well, he's never really seen her at all, but a part of him, feels slightly unease.
He wasn't ready for this. He didn't expect to see her or talk to her again.
He knows it's only stupid to not think he won't see her face, but he just wasn't ready to. Scott's never ready for anything anymore, not ever since his nightmares took toll of his sleep. The bags underneath his pupils were visible now, people could see the decaying once king in him. No one really even spoke to him anymore either, so when he sees Bess, it's only sane of him to grow nervous.
He still doesn't trust her.
He's standing in the middle of the library, as the small beads of sweat on his forehead start to form. He wishes he could be strong. He wishes the books in his hands weren't slipping, but they are. He's trying to grab onto them, but the knuckles of his hands go weak and he loses away any form of strength. Abruptly, she looks up and sees him, her eyes going wide again, just like a puppy. She's not crazy, she saved you.
He relaxes, she's not that kind of a person, she saved him. He should know this already, so he gulps harshly and walks over to the quiet girl in the corner. Today she's wearing blue, with that white, ripped sweater again, and her legs are folded against her chest. She's still got those bangs, so he can't read her eyes when her head drops. But when he walks over, she lifts it again softly, as if she's gesturing that she doesn't want to bother.
He knows she doesn't.
Scott can read a lot about people, due to his artistic skills, and he finds it easy to read their small gestures and details.
She's trying not to scare him away or bother him away. He knows that, so he sits next to her, scared, but trying, in hopes of letting her know that she isn't bothering. It's not like the library was designed for Scott, he wouldn't have come if it would have, so quietly, he sits beside her. His knuckles white from the tight grasp on the books, but his fingertips loose from the chances he's taking. Bess is his recovery.
"Hey." She starts, low, and reserved, trying not to provoke him to leave.
"Hey." His fingers loosen from the book, as his breath tries to find a way out. He's not sure he should be here.
"What are you reading?" Bess asks him, finally moving her view away from the pages. Her big, brown eyes opening fully at him. He likes them, her eyes, he means, they're nice, and they're amazing to draw. But he hasn't drawn a sketch in a while, so he decides on not saying so, besides it's creepy. He just lifts it, and smiles.
"I'm not sure, I think it's about an alien or something."
She laughs for the first time, and Scott likes that too, because it's quiet but loud enough for him to hear it. The smile on his face widens, and he's not sure if he trusts her just yet, but he knows she isn't going to hurt him. Big, brown eyes, and a quiet laugh—those don't seem like killer traits, and she doesn't seem like a killer kind of a girl. But yet, he doesn't trust her, so Scott just grins.
"I'm sorry. I'm just bad at book reports." He continues, shaking his head jokingly, as the girl beside him turns to her book.
She tenses for a second, because he can feel her shoulder harden. But it's when she murmurs something, that he realizes why she tensed. It was hushed and meant to be sweet, but came out rather creepy, and unnecessary, so when he turns to his book and slams it closed. She knows she did something wrong. Her eyelids flutter, and her position jumps, she stumbles out her apologies. "I'm sorry. I didn't—."
His bookbag swoops around his back and he snatches the book from the ground. Scott knew he couldn't trust her. "Stay away from me."
"I'm sorry—."
"Stay the freaking hell away from me." He tells her, coldly, without a second to spear, and walks out of the library. Scared, because just for a close second, he had trusted her, just for a close second, he had almost become friends with her. Catching his breath, Scott slowly began to realize what he did.
She's not crazy, she saved you.
. .
The silence in his room is frightening, and when Scott tries to exhale in order to make a sound. It doesn't make a difference. Jules mouth is still closed and her arms are still crossed. She's not happy, he told her what had happened, and honestly, he knows she's not happy. Who would be? Jules may not have known Bess all that well, but she still had her suspicions and in hearing that Scott was close to her, fuels her.
"Why?" She asks, tapping her foot tiredly.
"Why what?" Scott urges on, trying to pull the tiger out of the cage. He knows Jules is not to playwith. She told him she loved him already, she warned him that with love came constant worry and caution, just because she cared. But, Scott was a grown guy, he could fight his battles himself, he needed to fight his battles himself.
"Whywould you hang around Bess, Scott?" Her eyes shut in anger for a second. "Why would you hang around her? You know that she had her own set of crazy problems." She's not crazy, she saved you.
"Okay, first, she didn't have crazy problems." He quickly retorts, standing from his seat, "and second, she saved me Jules."
"Don't," she backed away from the blond, trying to save herself from his persuasive, coaxial talk. "Don't, don't, don't pull the whole saved-me crap." Her arms fell to her sides, as she tried to hold herself together. Scott meant a lot to her, he wasn't just another guy she'd play around with. This was Scott, her best friend since sixth grade, she loved him. He was the only one who ever understood her, the only one who ever cared.
"Jules, look," he tried to comfort, "she's my only way out."
"I'm supposed to be your only way out." Jules cried, her eyes holding the tears about to fall. "Me. Not Bess."
"You are the most important thing to me. But, with Bess, I can learn to trust again. She's the route, okay, she's the only way these nightmares will stop. If I can just learn to-to open up with someone again, someone who I never finished terms with, someone who I misjudged. Okay, Daniel, my therapist even said it, she's the perfect match." He sputtered in reason, tangling his fingers in his hair, trying to find a way to get Jules to understand. The look she threw at him only proved him different.
"So what?" Her head went back. "I'm not good enough for you. I'm not the perfect match."
"God, Jules, just listen to me—."
"No, okay, Scott. You are not seeing her again, tell me you are not seeing her again." Her finger extended towards him, hitting him in the chest. He didn't know what to do or what to say, or else he was going to lose her. He didn't want to lose her again. He couldn't lose her again.
"Okay. I won't talk to her." He finished, weakly grabbing Jules against him, letting her hair fall against his collarbone.
He was sure, that one way or another though, he would talk to her again.
Bess is his recovery.
. .
English class has already began, but Scott can't find his damn pencil and he's sure the notes he's missing right now are going to bite him later. He remembers having had at least one pencil somewhere in there, from this morning, although he's not sure. Besides, there's no one to ask, because unfortunately, he sits in the back of the class and no one cares to talk to him anymore, so he has to find a pencil.
He tries to shuffle lightly through his bag again, but he feels a sudden weak poke hit against his shoulder blade.
Scott' not sure who the hell it is, but he turns and almost feels his stomach fall. Bess.
She has a pencil extended, and her eyes are wide open again. Of course, the bangs shield over them, so he can't really see the brown orbs. But when she does lift her head, he catches the sorrowful and not as wondrous eyes flash at him. She's hurt.
He feels like an idiot for walking out of the library and leaving her there. She didn't mean to be a creep, even if she sounded like one, and it wasn't her fault he sort of hyperventilated. He's just scared about being so close with her, it scares him, human interaction is a rarity unless it's Jules or Daniel. His dad never is usually home, so he doesn't fuss about that, but he didn't mean to walk out of the library.
Quietly, without making much of a sound, his hands land on the pencil, still lingered in the air.
She doesn't say anything, she just shuts her eyes, and tries not to scare him away. "I'm sorry."
Scott smiles, finally moving the pencil towards himself, he laughs. "It's okay, Bess. I just got a little freaked out about this." His eyelids shut just as hers did a second ago, and he gulps. "This whole talking to you, or whatever, it freaks me out, but...it's not your fault."
"It's nice to talk to someone." She answers quietly, trying to be careful, as her fingers tangle themselves in her hair ends. "I don't have anyone to talk to. Just my boyfriend."
"Me too." He tells her, sort of excitedly, but then quickly realizes what he said when she laughs. "I mean, girlfriend, y'know, Jules." Jules, Jules had told him not to speak to Bess and here he was again, he was speaking to her, he was speaking to Bess over-the-moon Bess. It was risky, and scary, and he never knew what would happen or what Bess would say, but, for some strange reason, that's why he liked her.
"She seems nice." She tells him, tilting her head just a little, as the long brown hair she held in her fingers fell across her neck.
Scott also liked her hair. It was great for a sketch and he sort of wishes he could sketch again, but it brings back too many memories, so he pushes the thought away. "She is."
For a moment, Bess mumbles something, but then she shakes her head and turns back to her paper. It kind of irks Scott that she's quiet, because she can always get away with anything. And honestly, he'd like to hear every single mutter that escapes, but it's obviously not possible because she's so quiet.
"What?" He tries to ask, maybe if he asks, maybe she'll talk, but she just shakes her head.
"Nothing." Bess laughs, "it was a stupid idea."
"Aw, come on," Scott groans, laughing along with the brunette. His finger still in touch with the pencil. "Come on, tell me."
"No." She shrugs away, turning her view towards her assignment. She was almost done, but looking now, she'd have to take it home. If only she could take it to the library, and work on it with Scott. That'd be nice, but she knows Scott's kind of in an unhealthy state, and she can't risk that.
"Come on, Bess," his hands clasp together, "please?"
She almost says no, but then the puppy eyes he gives her, urges her to tell him. It wouldn't be that bad and if he says no, then he says no. It won't hurt to ask. Scott, as unexpected as he may be, would just tell her no or yes, so quietly, she lifts her head to tell him. "Do you want to go to the library with me?" It's not a date or anything, it's just two friends spending time together, so Scott doesn't see why he can't go.
He thinks about it for a second. She's not crazy, she saved you.
"Sure."
. .
They're sitting side by side against a library shelf, in silence, comfortable silence. No one's talking, and there's hardly anyone in the library, only a couple of study groups or something. But again, for some unusual reason, Scott likes this. He likes having silence in turn for people inviting him to parties he doesn't want to participate in. He'd take Bess' quiet reading, over a spiked soda any day.
She's extremely focused again, eyes wide and large over a couple of letters, and he suddenly wonders how she does that.
It's nice, when her eyes grow, and he feels like asking her, but obviously she won't know. She just does it normally, like an unknown habit. He likes it though, her big, brown eyes, and the bangs in front, despite how hard it is to read her expression, they're picturesque features. He'd like to draw them some day, obviously not today, but one day for sure.
Clutching the back of her book securely, she keeps reading on, the strands of her hair in her other hand.
He's secretly eying her, trying to remember each small habit and each single feature she has. They're...nice.
Bess, Bess is nice.
Her cheekbones are high and sculpt the very jaw that lies below. And her bitten nails, they say a lot about her, but it's nothing he finds revolting. He bets she bites her pens and pencils, or she probably doesn't. He really doesn't know, but he wants to. He wants to learn more about her. Like why she has a sudden change in clothing, or a sudden change of color. He likes yellow, and he likes all the other colors she wears, but something about black, something about black was nice. Something about who she was before, discreet as ever, was nice and still is.
Suddenly, she turns at him, and her eyes look up at him. And in a close second, Scott falls in love with the big, brown orbs, just for a close second. "What?" She whispers, the cheekbones shimmer, he bets if he makes her smile, they'll go higher.
"You're really...nice," he stops to lick his mouth, "to look at."
She smiles, and he gives himself ten Scotty points, because looking at what he assumed, it's true. Her cheekbones do go higher and are more visible when she smiles. They're lovely actually, but he turns away and tries not to be such a weird dork. "Oh, uh, thanks."
It came out rather shy, as if she's never heard a compliment, which he doubts she hasn't. Everyone has, even if they are a little crazy, but she's not crazy, so Scott chuckles briefly, before turning to his book.
This "talking to Bess" was a nice idea.
. .
The ice around them is cold to the eyes, freezing to the fingers, and deadly to the skin. It's also the reason Scott' teeth are clashing, despite the fact he's not even in the ice rink. He's got his eyes stuck on a figure, and his arms around himself. He's really cold, and he had no idea it would be this cold in an ice rink, but looking around, everyone else did. The glass in front of him is the fence, it's the barrier between what he wants and what he can't have. Bess is freely skating amongst the cold ice, and he wishes he could do the same, but disappointingly, he can't.
His leg is still bad, and isn't that great for ice, so he doesn't know why he decided to do this, knowing that this was something he couldn't do. Thanks to his leg, that was probably permanently damaged, yet working just as new.
He just couldn't stand going to the library anymore. It was boring and exhausting and all they ever did was read. He may like art, but he hates literature, so Bess suggested the ice rink, and he gladly, and stupidly, accepted.
Scott doesn't regret it though, it's nice doing something different. Besides, watching Bess ice skate is nice too. She freely skates and does so happily, with her arms spread and her face held upwards, with not a regret in the world, so he guesses it's okay. He just dreams someday he could skate the same, not scared that he may fall, or that someone's looking at him from behind. He wishes he could really skate, like her.
She never looks like this off the ice though.
Bess is always reserved and reading, the two special R's, and she never trusts much, but on here. On here, on this ice, it seems so, it seems like she's the only girl in the world.
Jules is always the only girl in the world. She's never scared, never frightened, she's always open. She's strong, resilient, and brave, and is all the things Bess is on the ice. He guesses that's why he likes her, because that's what he holds so high—bravery. But, he also guesses that it's probably all the things he'll never be.
He'll never be that on ice.
Nor on earth.
Scott' eyes divert back towards the girl spinning. She's such art. He wishes he could draw her, he wishes his fingers could use a pencil that way. He's tried to draw Jules before, when she was sleeping, but he couldn't do it. The image of that woman, flickered in his head, and that's all he could draw.
But he hopes that one day he'll draw, he hopes he'll be better enough.
. .
Bess is crying when he finds her, situated on the bleachers out in the football field, during class. He had no idea why he was trying to find her, but he doesn't want to think of why. Jules is already confused as to why he's always busy, and if he tells her Bess is his after-school buddy. She'll break up with him and he can't have that. He likes Jules, he likes her a lot, and she means the world to him, so he could never.
He can't ever ask himself why he cares so much.
He just sits by the girl who has her head in her arms, dropping his bag by his side. His stance held in surprise, because he's never seen her cry, and it scares him to be around her when it's happening, but, she's his friend. Friend's listen, so he sits by her, and tries to be soft, watching as the head next to him shakes. "What happened?"
She doesn't say anything at first, because she's busy wiping the tears off her cheek. But he catches the low whimper, or mumble, and it kills him. "He doesn't think I'm special anymore."
He already knows who he is, so he doesn't ask. He just sits by her and tries not to say anything stupid or anything at all. Her usual nice, big, brown orbs closed, because of the all the tears, and he feels really bad. He can't do anything to make her feel better, or make her feel any special. Scott' just good for sitting by her, as the pain is probably eating her alive.
She, looks at the field in front of her, and back at the arms she's held around herself, before she talks to him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—."
"It's fine." He tells her, looking at her warmly, his hands on his thigh. Scott doesn't care if she cries for an hour, or for a week, he'd stay. It's someone he's grown to care about, slightly, and he's not going to leave her alone. "You don't deserve this—."
"He called me crazy." She croaks, exhaling a sob, trying not to cry all over again. The sleeves of her sweater, wet, and soggy, from all the tears it's been forced through. His head goes back a little, in surprise, because that's just the impression he had before. He thought she was a little weird, and probably crazy, so he never spoke to her. But she's not crazy, she saved him. She saved him and someone who's crazy, would never pull such a selfless act. She's far from crazy, she's, she's careful, and half of the time, innocent. She never means to do any harm at all.
"That's not true." He turns to her, "you're not crazy, you saved me."
"Anyone would have—."
"But anyone didn't get hit in the head for me, it was you," he paused, locking his eyes on the girl below him. "You saved me, and, you're still trying to save me."
Her eyes moved from his for a moment, drifting towards the football field ahead. The tears dry, and forgotten, as she stares off. He thinks he may have helped her feel better, but he isn't sure, so he just continues on.
"You're far from crazy, Bess."
Her head turns back, and she doesn't say a word, but she does pull a small smile. It's weak and different from all the others, but it's a smile. He feels himself better, a little patched up inside when she slips her mouth against the sweater, trying to fight a bigger smile. Bess is his recovery.
. .
Her hand is attached to his, when she reaches the inside of the rink. He's nervous, and he isn't sure he's ready, but he's been wanting to skate for a while now, so he clutches tightly. Bess softly pulls him back when he tries to move, because honestly, she just wants to ice skate. But the blond, keeps tugging his direction, in hopes his skates won't hit the ice.
Scott' hands are shaking violently, and he isn't sure he can do this. His breathing is rapid, and the sweat beads are on his head, despite the cold air. He knows he'll probably be safe, but it doesn't stop the worry and the anxiety he has. His legs are quick to hitting the ground, and hands ready to loosen, but he does not make an inch of a step towards moving back.
Bess grips him tighter. "Don't worry."
"How am I not supposed to worry?" He asks, shaking still, "my legs are bad."
"Just trust me." She blurts, and everything goes suddenly tense in her, she shouldn't have said that. He can't suddenly trust her, it takes time. She almost feels like an idiot for saying so, smacking her head mentally.
"Okay." Her eyes lit up, and Scott feels himself suddenly let go. The blue orbs of his eyes flashing on hers, locked, as he stares at the girl. Reminding her that his health, is in her hands. Bess tries not to smile at this, because then she might push him away, but she can't help but grin a little. She appreciates the gesture, and she knows how hard it is for him to do that, but she's proud.
"Are you sure?" She asks, just in case, not wanting to rush the boy at all.
He narrows his eyes, in a jokingly matter, and asks her in a whisper. "You're not crazy, are you?"
She pretends to have been surprised, and leans in slightly. "No. I saved you, remember?" Her hands cup the side of her lip, and he only stretches his mouth a little, when she lifts her eyebrow. Bess isn't crazy, and for the first freaking time, he knows, and he trusts that enough.
In a quick second though, he starts to regret that, as she helps him into the rink. His legs shaking and clattering against each other, like if they were allergic to ice. Funny as it is, he might think it's true, because when his skates touch the cold, smooth ice, he almost slips. But Bess, fast as ever, catches him in her arms and practically curses at herself for not doing it even faster than she did. His hands even slipped the color from her fingers, due to how tight his grasp was, and she notices that. Her mouth falling in a quiet laughter.
"Don't worry." She says again.
But it's not that that he's worried about, it's the sudden rush he gets, the sudden shivers, the weird bumps that form on his arm, from being so closed to her, that he's worried about. That doesn't normally happen, and Scott doesn't want it to happen, but his eyes can pry away from her and her hair seems to brush against his face softly. He wonders how she's even holding him on her arm right now, as the two stare face-to-face, trying to catch their breath but losing it all too quick.
Her hair feels nice against his cheek, he could imagine how nice it would feel against his chest or fingers. Easy to run through, soft enough to—, and just like that, he falls to the ice. Bess immediately tries to lift him just as he hits, but she can't face him completely after what happened. She was guessing that she lost most of the senses, when she was slowly losing focus in his eyes. They were nice eyes, but she couldn't think about them now, as she tried to pick him off the icy floor.
She would assume he's mad, but not even a moment later, she hears his laughing.
"This is going to quite a class."
. .
They've been skating for weeks now, and Scott' quite the professional. He doesn't need her hand anymore, even if he slightly, strangely misses it, and he can skate with his arms in mid-air. He'd never thought he would skate so well, or so freely, but he does. He does it so beautifully, that now Bess is the one who watches him. Even if sometimes, they circle around each other and play catch on ice, she's still the one who has her eyes on him.
She thinks she's developing another crush on him, because she can hardly stop blushing around him, and it's making her sick. But, she likes him and there's nothing she can really do about it, there's nothing she can try, the only option...is to stay away from him, and she's already thought about that. It's just that, the mere thought, of leaving Scott because she likes him, sounds a little selfish. He's finally fixing himself, he finally feels better and looks better. He told her himself, that he's been getting load of sleep and that the constant anxiety is gone.
Looking across the rink, at the blond who's soaring on ice, her shoulders slack. She can't do this.
Or, can she?
Scott seems about ready to go on, he doesn't need Bess anymore to fix him. He doesn't even need her at all, she isn't even sure why she's still here.
But he is, and the thought of that, makes her heart burst. Scott doesn't need her, but he still wants her. Maybe not as a girlfriend, but as a friend, and just that idea, is something no one's ever wanted from her. Her. Just her, not her homework, or her school lunch, or her clothes, just her.
She smiles.
"What, just what," she hears from Scott, "is lovely Bessy thinking of?"
The laugh that escapes her throat doesn't sound like her. It's loud, kind of cheerier, and...girly? She guesses Scott' making her such a girl, with this whole crush business again. And when, he skates over, she feels the hairs on her arm rise, like if just being close to him was too much. She should really rethink this.
"What are you thinking about?" He hits harsh on ice, before stopping not even an inch away from her.
"Nothing interesting." She says, shrugging her shoulders, smiling at the boy who's closeness is affecting her. He makes a look at her quickly, and she's not sure what it means, but then she notices the slight glance he made at her lips, or her jaw. She's not sure which, but it doesn't matter, because he snaps out of it fast, and pretends as if not a single thing happened.
"I want to draw you."
Bess isn't sure what to say, because she isn't sure what that means. But he quickly, before she can say a thing, steps out of the ice and onto the bleachers located outside. His hands searching for his bag, that he, she doesn't know why, wants. Scott takes out a pencil and an old notebook, not even a second after, and then plants them on his lap. Blue eyes fix on her, and she assumes he wants her to sit by him, and watch his progress or something, so she follows after and does exactly that.
"Move a little." He murmurs, as he drags the pencil softly across the page. "I don't want you to see."
She doesn't have a problem, so she moves, shuffling a little. His eyes suddenly narrowing at her, and back at the page, as if he's digesting every detail, which she knows is what occurs during drawing. Yet, it makes her feel uncomfortable that he's looking at her so closely, and analyzing every feature she has. It makes her a little insecure, and a little worried, so she tries to creep over and check how he's doing. But he easily, slams the notebook against his chest and cuts off any view she had of the picture.
"Just wait." He chuckles, "I promise I won't take long."
She whimpers, all she wanted to do was see the picture. See if he's drawing some part of her that she doesn't like or doesn't want to see on paper, like her cheekbones or her eyes—both repulsive features.
Bess likes looking at him though, when he draws, he's focused, dedicated. His hands are gentle, and flow easily across the page when she watches him. He never misses a stroke. It's almost beautiful, enhancing, and...just about perfect.
It takes a few minutes for him to finish the picture, and when he shows it over to her, her mouth goes wide. She actually looks, beautiful for the first time, acceptable in this picture. She wishes he could have drawn something else though, because she isn't a good idea for any kind of a picture. She's actually lacking everything a picture needs. "Do you like it?" Scott interferes, facing her eyes with his blue ones.
Bess nods, before mumbling: "You drawing is beautiful."
He laughs, extending the picture a little more. "Yeah, I draw pretty okay, but it's not me that made you. Everything in that picture, every detail, every gesture, that's all you." His eyes lock on hers, and his breath hitches a little, "you're beautiful, not the drawing."
And suddenly, the air thickens around them, and their noses become close to touching. Scott can feel the small shivers run through his spine again and Bess can feel the butterflies fly again. It's almost hard to breathe, and hard to resist, because the closer they get, the better it feels. The faster their hearts pump, harsher the electricity races, that even the smallest gap between them is killing them slowly.
Their mouths part, and Scott leans in a little, just a little, that he isn't even sure if he's any closer.
"Scott!"
They both turn and catch the strawberry blonde enter the platform. Scott doesn't know why she's here and kind of feels like his privacy was invaded, but he smiles because it's Jules and because she cares. Or, she loves him, something that he hasn't told her yet and he can't figure out why. But, anyway, he slides out out of the bleachers and kisses the girl who he's known for such a while. She doesn't seem to like that he's with Bess, because she told him not to talk to her, but she shrugs it away and just kisses him back. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to visit my boyfriend," she answers, smiling against his chin, "and I wanted to ice skate too."
His eyes light up, and he quickly takes her hand. "Ice skate with me then."
Jules doesn't understand how he's ice-skating with such a bad leg, but she just nods happily, and follows him. "Who even taught you how to ice-skate?"
He stops, and realizes there was a girl in here, but as he glanced across the bleachers, she was already gone. Some kind of feeling in his stomach dropped, the excitement probably, and the light in his eyes shut. Bess. He hoped Bess wasn't pissed off. He really liked her, and having her around, and if she was mad about what just happened and how he almost came onto her, he's sorry. He knows Bess is kind of reserved, and he would never want to choke her that way. "Oh, Bess."
"Bess, huh?" She lowers an eyebrow. "Bess seems kind of, crazy, don't you think?"
"She's not crazy." He almost shouts, tired of people calling her that. Because honestly, she doesn't deserve it, and it's not because she saved him anymore. It's because he knows her, and she's far from it.
"You wouldn't know that though, okay? You can't trust her." Her arms fold. "She's weird, and so out of it, it's just, unsettling."
Jules nor Scott could notice though, Bess was hiding behind the entrance doors and she could hear everything. She could hear the assumptions and Scott' yelling, as he tries to defend her. It almost makes her smile, but, it's not enough to make her feel any better. She should have just stayed away, she doesn't understand why she puts herself in these situations. Scott was happy before she came into his life, and he didn't have to deal with crazy people. People like Bess.
"Crazy people don't have friends, and she doesn't have friends, Scott."
Bess doesn't feel the tears fall, but they do, they fall, because it's the truth. When has Bess ever had friends, other then her ex-boyfriend? Never, she's never had friends, the only friends she'd probably ever come close to is her books. Books, and music, and everything she owns because no one else ever takes the time to know her.
Only Scott.
And it wasn't even real, it was just to patch himself up and then he'd be ready to go. And he is, so why shouldn't she, taking one glance into the window glass of the platform, she should be.
So, she goes, she goes home.
But it's when she goes, that he tells Jules quietly: "She has me."
. .
Scott doesn't see her after that, or really, talk to her, because he remembers seeing her in class, but she didn't say a word. It makes him angry, because if he would have known that proximity pisses her off, he would have backed away from that. He wouldn't have been such an idiot, into leaning in, after something that was clearly not acceptable. Rubbing the hairs of his scalp, he ponders for a moment, because during that whole-kiss-that-was-about-to-happen, she wanted it.
She parted her lips, she was leaned in, she showed no sign of annoyance.
Scott was sure Bess wanted it.
Hell, he was sure he wanted it. In the moment, everything was a blur, and they were clear. Feelings were there, they were obvious, he just doesn't know why he's sitting here in class thinking about it. Jules is his girlfriend. He shouldn't be thinking about this, or even considering it. But he is, and he can't help but think about Bess' big, brown eyes and how beautiful they looked at that moment.
Beautiful. She's always been beautiful.
But Scott, never wanted to say it, so he called her nice. Nice.
Nice, in turn for beautiful, because before, he knew his limits, before he knew who he wanted to be with and who he was sure he loved. But now, now, his decisions were confusing, like a blurry windshield, or a math question that he isn't understanding. Now, he's sure that he's falling in love with Bess.
And it's killing him, because he's not sure she feels the same.
After the way he treated her that day, in front of all her friends, the way he called her crazy. How the hell is she supposed to feel the same? He's treated her awful, and now, she lets him back into her presence. She let him talk to her, without any grudges, and he does something to piss her off again. Scott is so close to ripping his hair, because not only is he a total idiot, but he's a jerk. Falling in love with one girl, while already being in love with another.
It's a dick move.
So, he slams his pencil on the table, and asks to be excused, because he already feels the anxiety caving in.
He was so close to patching himself up.
. .
School's already over and summer's started.
But, he still hasn't spoke to Jules nor Bess.
Jules, because he told her he's falling for Bess, and no matter how much he tries to talk to her, she ignores him. Bess, because he hasn't gotten the chance to talk to her, she hides and runs and he never finds her. Either way, he doesn't deserve the chance to speak to either of them. Jules had loved him unconditionally and fully, and cared for him more than anyone. And Bess, Bess did the same, except she didn't know he would be falling in love with her slowly, as she did.
He didn't either.
Turning his view towards the ceiling, as the cold air from the window hits him, he realizes that hiding from the world isn't going to do anything.
He has to decide who the hell he wants. Because the sheets are starting to suffocate him, and all these questions, he can feel the anxiety hit and he can't do anything but slip through the covers. He wishes, he wishes Bess was here. He never felt like this with her, she always made him forget. The load on his back would be gone and the nightmares would depart. Life would just get easier.
Bess recovered him.
Jules didn't, no matter how much she loved him. It wouldn't get any better. He would never get any better. Maybe it was his fault, maybe he wasn't trying, but whatever it was, Jules wasn't his recovery. Sthe was his trophy, what he would win, the happiness he would get if he recovered. But, to think of someone that way, was alarming and unhealthy. She was supposed to be his recovery. He wanted her to be. She made him happy and every spec of the way, she would be there to give him courage, but she didn't recover him.
Bess did.
And, he's killing himself, he's killing himself thinking that way. That Jules, the girl of his dreams, isn't the girl who saved him.
She isn't the one who taught him how to ice-skate, or brought him back to drawing. She wasn't the one.
He wanted her to be, all of his heart and soul, begged for her to be. But she wasn't the one, she wasn't there when he was screaming for help. And it's not her fault that she wasn't, it was his, it was all his, and he's okay with that.
But he's not okay with being alone.
He's not okay without Bess.
. .
The doorbell seems strange to Bess' ears, far and distant, almost unknown. She never hears the doorbell, and when she does, it's pizza, or, her parents, or before, Jeffery. But she knows it isn't any of those, because her parents left yesterday, and her pizza wasn't ordered, and Jeffery, well, he doesn't find her special anymore.
She knew it couldn't possibly be anyone, probably the mailman or her imagination or something. But, she stands from her couch and trots over to the door, opening it with some kind of hope that it is someone important. Instead, her eyes grow wide when she notices it's Scott, because she thought he would forget about her. She thought he would run off with Jules or something. She thought he would get over her, but as she looks at the smile's he flashed towards her, it looks like he hasn't.
"I think that's the first thing I liked about you." He starts, pointing towards her face, "your eyes, when they go all wide, and puppy like."
She tries not to grin, but it's natural, and Bess can't help but let the butterflies fly in her stomach. "What else?" She quietly asks, keeping her grip on the door.
"Your bangs, and those extremely out-there cheekbones," he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. Bess isn't really sure what to say, because honestly, she's never been told in any way or form that she's beautiful. Jeffery hardly told her that, and when he did, he would just become slightly rude. Well, he was always rude, she guesses that's one of the things she handled when being with him. "Oh, and those lips, yeah, beautiful."
She's blushing harshly, like literally her smile stings and she's never smiled like that before. But with Scott, it was hard not to. "Thank you." She looks at the rug beneath him, nervous, "how are you?"
"I'm not sure." He croaks, stepping closer, his hands returning to his side. "I'm not sure...because, you haven't finished saving me."
"I thought I did." She replied, meekly, lowering her head from his view. But softly, before she could say no, he turns her face upwards towards him. His blue eyes opening at hers, causing Bess to loose some of her breath.
"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, Bess." His breath hit her skin, "but I'm not okay without you."
It took her some time to process that he likes her, but when she finally let it reach her. She felt her heart burst into several, small butterflies, hovering in her chest and in her stomach. Because, for once, when she actually likes someone, genuinely likes them, they like her back, for her, and who she is.
"I want to be with you." He stated, loosing some of his cool when she licks her lips and smiles. "I want to be with you, because you saved me, Bess, because you taught me how to ice-skate." He laughed at this, remembering his first time, and remembering how it felt to be close to her. "Because, you got me drawing again."
"Scott—."
"Just, please, let me finish," he stammered, trying to let himself go, trying to completely trust that she won't neglect him. "I want to be with you, because you're far from crazy, Bess. You're beautiful, in each and every single way."
And suddenly, her lips connected with his, in an instant, setting the fireworks to the skies of their stomachs. Like fire to their veins, and oxygen to their lust, Scott almost felt his knees go weak, from how amazing it felt to finally have this, to finally recover, completely and wholesomely. His chains have fallen, his patches are sealed, and the load of his back is finally gone. He felt himself smile, because she's fixed him, he's cured.
"Thank you."