I lay down on my bed, after I washed all of my makeup away and my mask was gone. I picked up the hooded sweatshirt Sean had let me borrow. It smelled like him. Sweet and sensual, with an edge of danger all at the same time. I curled up next to the sweatshirt and started to cry.
When I told Sean that I wanted him to bring my shirt to me tomorrow, I had forgotten that 'tomorrow' was Saturday. So I woke up and put on a pair of black jeans and a tank-top. After putting the dark, heavy makeup on, I crawled out my window and headed to Sean's with his sweatshirt in hand. I knocked on the door, after I checked to make sure Trackers bike wasn't in the driveway. I heard scurrying before the door opened.
"Here's your shirt," I said. "I forgot today was Saturday."
"Me too," we stood in silence. Staring. Hoping. Wanting. He was in a pair of baggy jeans, no shirt. I could see his muscles, I wanted to reach out and touch him...but I couldn't. "Come in," he moved aside, letting me in the house. "You...your shirt is right here." He tossed it to me. I caught it.
"Thanks."
"No problem," he said. "Look, Emma, don't turn yourself into this. There isn't a chance for me...but there is for you."
"Sean, why do you care?" I asked.
"Because, I know what its like. You think I don't know how it feels to be trapped? Like you can't breath? I do, Emma. You once said I knew nothing of hell, but your wrong. Look at this," his voice was raising as he grabbed a stack of envelopes from the table. "Look, Em, past due, past due, final notice, terminal notice," he slammed the bills down on the table in front of me. "Do you know what its like to have to live with your brother because you can't get a long with your parents? Or what its like to come home every night and hear them drunk and fighting and screaming? Do you?" he screamed.
I was shocked into silence.
"I didn't think so. Like I said before, you're wrong. I know about hell. I know it all too well."