His Thorns (History of Us)

9.

With an allergy to dust Joy had gotten used to uncontrollably coughing. Her throat would go dry and air would escape her. As tears filled her eyes, she would desperately try to stop the sound of her coughing from filling quiet rooms. It seemed the longer she tried to hold in her cough the harder it would become to restrain herself. Inevitably it would be too much to bear, and Joy was left a breathless mess, forced to excuse herself.

As she sat next to Micah, she felt that same breathlessness she was so accustomed to. Despite her best efforts to avoid him, Joy had found herself face to face with the boy every time she thought she was safe. He had bought methylated spirit and cotton swabs before she had the chance to assure him, she would just walk back home. Now, he had held her captive in the playground, a firm but gentle grip holding her knee in place as he swabbed it. It was painful but she had gotten used to the sting from years of falling, tripping, and slipping.

He wasn't looking into her eyes, but she was looking at his. They were focused, meticulously guiding the swap over the rough skin. She tried her best not to stare but he confused her. They had barely talked, if anything he should have been weirded out by her behavior, yet here he was tending to her. Her eyes travelled from his face down to his hands that were still tending to her. It was dark but she couldn't help but notice the deep scars that wrapped around his wrist. If they were any deeper, one might think someone was trying to cut of his hands. She wanted to reach down and graze her hand over them, but she knew better than to question scars.

"You have some very strange habits, you know," he said, breaking the silence.

Her eyes narrowed, as if on cue, he was picking on her again, "Like?"

"Well for one, you've been staring at me," He looked up, tilting his head with a grin. She stared up at the sky, almost snapping her head in the process. She felt her face heat up. She didn't realize he noticed, he seemed preoccupied. "Don't let me stop you,"

She rolled her eyes, deciding not to grace his comments with any more responses. Silence was much better than the torture of engaging in conversation with him. Soon enough her knee was disinfected and had a Winnie the poo band aid covering the scrape. Joy wasn't quite sure is she should just stand up and leave. She thought it might be rude of her after he had helped her, even if she had never asked for it.

Luckily, he was the one to break the silence, he handed her the remaining band aids for later use and took his leave. She reached out for his hand catching his wrist in hers, he recoiled holding where she had touched him close to his chest.

"Sorry, I mean thank you," She stuttered, cursing at herself under her breath for not being more aware, "Thank you for helping me,"

She stared down at her feet walking past him to get away from the awkward situation. She couldn't get far before she felt his hand around her wrist. She snapped back looking at his hand confused.

"Your eyes are red," He started, "I wasn't going to say anything but- "

"And your wrists?" Before she could say anything, the words had already left her mouth. He let go of her hand a momentary look of shock clouded his features but soon enough his smug grin was back. He let go her hand, holding his up in defeat before walking away from the park, leaving Joy alone.

Joy decided it was futile to try and avoid her classmate any longer. They would be seeing each other every weekday for the next year. Once they had gotten back to school not much had changed, they never said more than a few words outside of class. It became much harder to be within a 5-meter radius of him once the girls from younger grades learned of his existence. Joy remembered when she was their age, fangirling over seniors like they were popstars. Now that she was a senior, she realized there wasn't much to senior boys except Jordans and being annoying.

During recess and lunch time, as if the bell was a signal calling them to the 12th grade class, they would file in, their squealing voices doing nothing but pissing her off as she tried to get into her book. Like the Pavlov's dog she soon associated him leaving the classroom with peace and quiet. Within the short time he had been in her class, he had already been confessed to twice. She didn't blame the girls. He was friendly to everyone, a trait she had never quite understood. One might almost confuse his behavior for flirting if they didn't notice the joking undertone to his words. Luckily for Joy, it had nothing to do with her.

She was doing her best to mind her business, but it soon became a common point of conversation amongst her friends. Who had confessed to Micah today? Who will confess tomorrow? Tabitha was enthralled with the phenomenon, keeping a note of every new development, and making assumptions that were almost always accurate. Her current fixation was that she was sure that he would eventually give into the wiles of an 11th grader who had spent the last 3 weeks on his arm.

Joy thought differently, she could see the slight look of disgust and obvious discomfort whenever she was too close to him. Joy suspected he would continue to entertain all of them but never take them seriously. She wanted to stay out of it, but Tabitha reported every development as if it was an emergency news story. Now they were in American government class Tabitha was whispering how that 11th grader had brought candy to Micah during recess. She laughed it off as, Mrs. Fisher put some documents down. 

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Hello my lovlies,

I have had a crazy week so I haven't been able to update. I had like 9 tests and a ton of homework. 

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapterr! Don't forget to like comment, share and drink lots of waterrr 💕

-- urfavehistorian ʕノ•ᴥ•ʔノ