his fingers close around mine, wrapping around my entire palm and lacing themselves securely between mine. i feel his hand tightening – i love you – but mine stays limp, just hanging there. my body has a blank feeling to it. i feel my eyes staring blankly forward; my feet plodding on of their own accord. the fingers on my other hand are tense. they hold my folder, notebooks, and pencil bag much too tightly. i feel a panic rising up as i try to justify my own feelings. slowly, the thought wanders into my mind. (i haven't squeezed back yet.) he's not looking at me and i'm wondering if he knows that i need him to squeeze my hand every day; even on the days i won't squeeze back. my mind is wrenched away from him seeing the back of her blondbrownhighlighted head. my nose (mentally) wrinkles. that stupid blonde fucking bastard is in my mind; him walking around them as they all talked about him, unsuspecting, and seconds later, her hands wrapped around my shoulders, not saying a single word. (FLASHBACK TO THE BASEMENT ROOM: "she avoids won't tell me because she doesn't talk to me anymore." i wonder if it's on purpose, sometimes. "i want to know what they talk about." it was as if we had kissed with our words) (TO THE PRESENT.) here i stand with my fingers limp wondering why i'm not squeezing back … and suddenly he lets go, just walks away because he's found spanish one … and i have to find physical science alone. i let him go, trying so desperately to ignore the ice wrapping my body and my loss of motor skills, wandering down the hall, arriving as the bell rings, fake a normal conversation until the test. mental block; finally something to distract me, just long enough, before i return to my distracting thoughts again.

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February 11, 2008