I'm sitting in WiRed again, the next day, Friday. I tug self-consciously at my school uniform, one eye on the look out for Case.
Instead, there's a tall, greasy looking man sitting behind the counter, his face looking dead bored.
I get up from my table, the same table that I was at yesterday, and walk up to the counter.
"A hot chocolate please," I ask.
He merely grunts and puts his hand out. I hand him a five-dollar note.
Lazily, he punches in the numbers and counts out my change, dumping it on the bench.
I take it, then head back to my seat, noticing that the short bald man is in the corner again, the same book in his hands.
The door rings as someone walks in. I don't look up from what I am writing, my sentence written unfinished.
"Uh... do you have a Coke?"
I look up, stunned. It couldn't be.
Mr. "Do you have a Coke" looks at me, and by the look on his face I can tell that he knows who I am.
Well, duh, I'm wearing the same uniform as him.
Mr. "Do you have a Coke" is none other than Isaac Jorden.
Funny, I never picked him to be the artsy café type.
He gives an awkward wave.
I turn back to my essay, pretending that I didn't see him.
Damn, I can hear him walking up to my table.
I have nothing to say but, "You really shouldn't start your conversation with 'um' you know."
He laughs. It's a very pretty laugh, if you can say that about a guy's laugh.
He turns back to the counter, where Greasy Guy has set the bottle of Coke, and is waiting impatiently for Isaac to pay.
Isaac hands him a handful of change and walks towards the door and makes to leave, but not before turning back to look at me.
I nod and smile and watch as his beautiful face disappears through the door.
The clock on the wall chimes 6 o'clock and I gather my things, certain that Case won't be coming in today.
I push back my chair, cringing as it screeches on the newly polished floor.
I hear Greasy Guy mutter, "That better not have scratched the floor."
What a way to treat customers...
The five-minute walk home is nice in the crisp winter air, my hair getting all windswept, just the way I like it.
I get home to find a note on the hall table, telling me to make something for myself for dinner, that my mother has left for some conference, and Dad is working late.
As per usual, I am home alone until... right up until I go to sleep almost.
I love the solitude of being home alone, where I can do anything that I want to, and there's no one around to care.
I flip through my collection of (illegally burnt) CDs, and slip one into the CD player.
I turn the volume up and fall onto the couch, letting my eyes close.
There are moments when I know it
The world revolves around us
And we're keeping it, keeping it all going
This delicate balance, vulnerable, all-knowing
The phone rings, breaking me out my blissful, music-induced reverie.
"Hello?" I answer.
It's my mother dearest, calling to remind me to eat.
I think she's a little paranoid that I might wake up anorexic one day.
Sorry to crash your dreams, Mum, but... no.
"Mum, I need to go stick my finger down my throat. I'll see you when you get home."
I promptly hang up and leave her to freak out about my possible eating disorder, while I take a frozen lasagne out of the fridge and put it in the oven.
I head down the hall to my room, where I open my laptop and listen to it whir into action.
My desktop smiles up at me, a photo of "the group" from our year 10 formal at the end of last year.
Note to self: Change desktop picture.
I double-click my website icon and let the form load, before typing in my blog entry.
Ten minutes has passed before I'm satisfied with my rants and ravings, and I click post.
I've been into this whole blogging thing for a fair while, about two years. It's gotten me through some pretty stupid times, times when I was feeling like the whole world was falling to pieces around me, times when I mucked around and screwed myself over a bit, times when I was misunderstood, and, most recently, times when I became alone.
Most of the stuff on my old blog isn't very pretty, hence why I've decided to start this new one. The layout isn't much, but then again, I'm not the most artistically inclined person there is, so I deal.
And besides, it's not like there's anyone who reads it anyway, so the layout is really only so that I don't have to be blinded by the black and white-ness of the default layout.
I close the window and then open up Word, wanting to make a start on my English essay that's due on Monday.
It's not like I have anything on the weekend that will distract me, but I'm an A-class procrastinator, so I know that I should at least try to make a start.
The alarm goes to signal the cooking of my lasagne and I save the beginnings of my essay, the retyped question.
Lasagne in one hand, remote control in the other, I settle down infront of the TV for a good old soap-fest.
I'm not one to hide the fact that I love my daily dose of soaps. With Neighbours due to start in a minute, I get myself comfortable.
However, as I hum the theme song in time to the music, the phone rings and I am torn between the revealing of who it was that killed Dana, and the phone.
My logical side picks the phone, and I reluctantly reach for the phone.
The voice on the other end sounds vaguely familiar, but my parents have raised me well (as best as they could while they weren't around) and I ask who it is before telling them who I am.
"It's Isaac. I saw you at the café?"
A small smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.
"I called about a hundred people to get your number... This is you right?"
"Sorry, let me just get my sister," I lie. "Lexi!" I call with a laugh, covering the mouthpiece with one hand.
I put the phone back to my ear. "Hello?" I say again, trying to imitate my 'sister'.
"OK. That was amusing. For me," I laugh lamely. "Ok. Now I'll shut up."
I hear him laugh. Have I already said that he has a nice laugh?
"So do you really have a sister?"
I shake my head and reply, "No. I'm an only child."
"It must suck."
"Nah, it's alright. I get a lot of solitude."
"Oh. Coz I was thinking that you might want to hang out one day... But if you like your solitude..."
I mentally kick myself.
"I think I can make an exception," I reply with a smile.
:: e n d ::
DISCLAIMER: Lyrics used
were from Existentialism on Prom Night by Straylight Run.
COULD IT BE?? A CHAPTER FROM WiRED?!?!?
Indeed it is. Hope you likey. Check out Alexia's Livejournal too. (username: lexia) Otherwise, the link is in my bio. TAKE A LOOK AT IT!!
Anyway, yes, just thought that I'd resurrect this... This story is not dead, by all means. I just haven't been able to write much. Hope you like.
Thanks to those people that reviewed on my first chapter 500 years ago! Hehehe. Maketh me feel loved!
euphorix: Hehehe... Yeah. Anyway, now you've read the rest...
p-y-a: Hahaha. You're so funny. So weird. And now you won't remember what it was that you said that's making me laugh. So I shall just laugh away! ) But no, you can't have Case!
Kylie1403: Hehehe... Well, prepare to be UNinterested... lol.
SolisLuna: Hehehe... Yes, again, no update... Lol.
J.D Braff: Haha. Teased you a bit with the presence of the other chapters... Hahaha. Someone to hate? Now there's an idea... mmm...
controv3rsyxx: Hope you like this chapter!
RoseofFlame: ::hands the drugs over:: Lol. You probably don't remember what you said in your review... But hehehe.
Send a review my way, so that I know that I'm loved!