You Can Have Manhattan—A SoNami {Sora/Namine} Fanfiction
Chapter Summary; Naminé meets up with a new friend on the bus to school and is left speechless after an encounter she's trying to avoid.
Author's Note; I AM BACK AND A NEW CHAPTER IS HERE. Half a year later and I am back and ready to continue on with this story. I sincerely apologize. I was working nonstop and I was in the midst of my final semester of undergrad so things were insanely hectic. But here I am, back to continue on with this story! Hopefully you guys aren't too upset and if you are, I am so, SO sorry! Anyways, I know I've sort of altered the character of Naminé, but as the story progresses you might begin to understand why she is the way she is. I really love to work with characters and warp them every now and then, so please bare with me. I haven't written in a very long time, so I apologize if this is a bit sloppy when compared to other chapters. I have to get back into the swing of things. I hope to have the next chapter up soon! Enjoy!
You Can Have Manhattan—Chapter Three
An Unexpected Encounter
I awoke the next morning to a pounding sensation that radiated throughout my entire body. After one day of walking more than I probably had in the past ten years, my bones and muscles were feeling the pressure. I had grown accustomed to wheelchairs and hospital beds, it's almost as if my legs had forgotten they were legs. My alarm clock buzzed and I could barely reach across the space between my bed and nightstand to turn it off. I struggled but eventually I forced myself up and silenced my alarm.
"Here we go," I sighed, attempting to stretch. Everything ached but I couldn't quit yet.
Shuffling to the bathroom, I got ready as quickly as I could. No makeup, a messy bun and a half-hearted shower rounded up my morning routine. Heading back to my room, I threw on a simple floral patterned sundress. Dresses reminded me of youth—I always loved to twirl and dance in dresses when I was young. They made me feel as if I wasn't struggling through having a psychological mindset of a middle-aged adult. Gathering my supplies, I repacked my book bag and slowly made my way downstairs.
My mother seemed to forget all about our spat last night as she greeted me with an exaggerated smile. "Good morning sweetheart," she sung as she set a plate full of breakfast food down on the table. I wasn't very hungry.
"Hi mom," I muttered. I took a seat away from the food but she immediately moved the plate in front of me. Taking the fork, I picked at the contents. "I'm sorry about last night. I was really tired."
Placing her arms around me, she squeezed my fragile shoulders and sighed. "I understand. I know how you get when you're exhausted." Releasing me, she made her way back into the kitchen to finish whatever she was doing. While she always told me that she understood, I never truly believed it. She tried to understand yet she couldn't, she wasn't the one who was sick. She wasn't experiencing life through a body she couldn't control. She was the mother of a sick child who read books on the subject and educated herself by talking to the doctors for hours. She knew all the symptoms, the side effects and the likely outcomes. She knew everything there was to know about my physical condition, yet she still wasn't me.
I couldn't bring myself to eat much. I nibbled on the toast and ate half a piece of bacon. By then my stomach was gurgling, as I felt the usual morning nausea coming on. I hurried to the bathroom and slouched by the toilet, but nothing came out. I could feel my mother's gaze yet I didn't bother to turn around. Instead, I pushed myself up, brushed my teeth and composed myself as best as I could. "Here we go," I repeated, breathing deeply.
My mother wanted to drive me to school again, but I refused her offer. Rather, I waddled outside and waited at the end of my road for the bus. It was several minutes before it pulled up and as its doors opened my ears were flooded with the loud chatter of high school students. I entered the bus and stood for a moment, my eyes searching for an empty seat. There were none.
"Hey, hey!" A voice erupted from the rear of the bus as a hand shot up in the air. The bright red hair peaked over the top of the seat. Axel.
As the bus began to move, I struggled to keep my balance as I made my way to the back. Axel was laying down on the seat, his legs extended to the next seat over where Roxas was slouching as well. "Uh hi," I waved. Axel sat up, patting the now empty area next to him. I sat down and kept a reasonable distance between us.
"So, you decided to come back for round two. I'm pretty impressed," he said, raising an eyebrow.
I chuckled a bit, feeling much more relaxed around him now than the night before, "Well, I've never been one to give up."
The distance between us was quickly diminished as Roxas hopped over into the same seat. I was small enough that all three of us could fit, but not exactly in a comfortable manner. "Are you going to talk to Sora today?" Roxas questioned.
Feeling squished between the two, I tried to hide my growing anxiety. Sinking my head down, I tried to avoid the question. As if inside my head, Axel pushed Roxas off the seat. I watched as he stumbled to the floor, caught awkwardly between the small space between the isles. "Will you give her some space, you're going to give her a heart attack."
I couldn't help but laugh as the blonde tried to untangle himself. Axel let out the most warm laugh I had ever heard—it was so genuine. I hadn't heard a laugh like that in years. The blonde eventually pulled himself out and sat back down, a pout emerging on his lips. "You're such an ass."
"Only because I love you," he winked, turning his attention back to me. "Listen, you don't have to talk to Sora if you don't want to. You probably need some time to adjust. If you want, I'll hide you in my hair when he comes around. I mean it."
I let out a giggle and nudged him slightly, "I don't think that'll be necessary. Really, I'll be okay."
There was no way in hell I was going to be okay. Mr. Merlin was barely halfway into his lecture and my hand was already cramping from the intense amount of writing I was doing. There were barely any notes on the board, but I kept on scribing to keep my attention away from the deep blue eyes that continually glanced over at me every few seconds. I was the first one in class earlier, so I had the freedom to sit wherever I chose. However, moments later, oversized sneakers squeaked against the floor and a mess of brown hair had claimed the seat next to mine. He hadn't said a word yet it was enough to leave me temporarily paralyzed.
It felt as through high tide was raging through my stomach. It twisted and turned and flipped upside down as my heart thumped louder and louder with every passing second. He keeps looking at me. Oh god, what do I do? I continued to write as much as I possibly could, immersing myself in what Mr. Merlin was teaching. Every minute felt like an eternity. I tapped my foot violently against the floor. I glanced at the clock and back to my notes. Suddenly, there was a folded piece of notebook paper on my desk. Without permission, my eyes darted over to the desk beside me and caught a glimpse of a smiling Sora.
Once I regained control, my eyes focused on the paper in front of me. With shaking hands, I picked it up and unfolded it as quietly as I could, hoping Mr. Merlin wouldn't catch me. Between the rather transparent blue lines, a startling question was presented in big, sloppy letters: Can we talk?
I didn't know what to do. I told Axel I'd be okay but I would've loved to be hidden in his hair at that very moment. Did I want to talk? Yes, yes I did. I wanted to talk, I wanted to scream, I wanted to release all the secrets and demons I had been hiding beneath their noses all this time. Could I talk? I didn't know. It was so easy to think of the conversation, to say in my mind, Sora, you have to understand, I was sick. I was so, so sick. Yet, the thought of the words slipping out of my mouth made my tongue dry. I felt guilty. I was so guilty. I had left without a second glance and they needed answers. He needed answers. I had to talk to them, to him. I had to.
Suddenly, the bell rang and I jumped, caught off guard. He expected an answer but I had none to give. With a quick scribble, I replied and shoved the note back to him. As fast as I possibly could, I gathered my belongings and rushed out, not wanting to see the look on his face when he read my somber reply.
No. I'm sorry.
