Hi there. Thanks for checking this out.
This is a oneshot on Clay reaching to Skye from her point of view.
Thanks for reading :)
Skye's POV
I walked down the hall with the feeling of nostalgia, knowing it was the last time I would ever see it.
It's odd to think that I was not always like this. Not always burying myself in heaps of cloth so that no one could detect me on the radar.
But that's how it is now. No use trying to fight it anymore.
I look down at the linoleum floor and loose myself in memories of eighth grade- the last year I could feel anything. The last year I had with my mother. The year Istarted pushing her away. Truth be told, it was all my father's fault. If he hadn't needed a new razor blade at that God damned second, she never would have gotten in the car. Never would have gone to the store. Never would have been shot in the middle of a robbery.
My father apologized. But his guilt made no difference. She was gone, forever.
And in three short hours, I would be, too.
I was so lost in my little, painful world, I barely heard someone saying my name from behind me. I glanced back to see a tired looking Clay Jensen, eyes wide with worry. What could he possibly want? I gave him a little smirk. Cocky. Superior. I really was a great actress. Too bad it will never be put to use.
"Skye. Can we talk?" I recalled seeing him on the bus last night.
"About?"
"You." I have to admit, it caught me off guard. I was shocked. Someone cared? Doubt it, but I was hopeful, for once.
He gestured to an empty classroom. This particular room happened to have been my Freshman algebra class. I made my way to the second row and sat down. I caressd the spot where I had carved my initials. Jagged and uneven- just like me.
Clay sat down on the empty teacher's desk.
"Okay, Skye, I want you to talk to me." I snorted.
"Clay, why are you wasting the time?" I honestly couldn't believe it.
"Because. I care about you. I want you to be okay. I need you to be okay. So, please. Talk to me. I'm ready to listen." His eyes were sincere.
I felt something bloom in the middle of my stomach, unfamiliar, but definately good. Tears pricked in the corners of my eyes. Maybe, when three hours were up, I would stick around. Knowing that Clay cared, it meant the world to me.
Clay Jensen- the boy who saved my life.
Forgive me, I don't know anything about the psychological aspects of people with suicidal thoughts. I hope I got it somewhat right. If not? Please, write one yourself! I, for one, would love to read it.
Thanks so much!
~CrucialDetails
P.S.
Reviews are wonderful!
