7 January 2013
"You're staring," he said quietly, "is that what you came for? To stare at the freak?" His voice was angry but his grey eyes were sad, disappointed almost.
"I'm sorry," I stuttered, an embarrassed flush spreading into my cheeks, "I didn't mean to offend you, I really didn't."
"I thought when I got away to university this would change," Marshall shook his head, his messy hair bouncing in agreement, "but it's just different people, same disgusted looks."
I sat down at the table, determined to make up for my previous faux pas.
"I'm really sorry," I said earnestly, looking him straight in the eye. "I honestly meant no offence. But I have to confess, I came over to talk to you, not just to share your table."
"Really?" He frowned, intrigued but uncertain, "Why?"
"I'd noticed you around in lectures and," I looked away, my cheeks hot, my heart hammering, "I just wanted to ask you out." I was shocked at myself; this wasn't quite what I had planned.
Marshall was still and silent for a moment, a statue amidst the bustling cafeteria.
"That's the meanest joke any one has ever played," he said quietly, picking up his bag and book, "I hope it gives you a good laugh." With that he turned and left, his coat tails flapping as he stormed out of the double doors.
I just sat there, open-mouthed for at least a minute, trying to understand what had just happened.
"Well that could have gone better," I sighed.
Scars - Part Two • Opuss № I