with getting to be clean and pretty all the time. And strawberry lip gloss, I've always had sort of a soft spot for that."
"I don't get it." Monica pulled her knees up under her chin and rested her forehead against them. Her hair fell over her legs in a brown wave mixing with blue denim waterfalls.
"You're the one who got hurt," she said, her voice muffled by her knees. "I should be comforting you and telling you it's okay and all that bullshit and instead I freak out on a bi-monthly basis and turn into this mess."
Martin resisted the urge to give her a hug. His parents had been big huggers, especially his mom. Monica didn't seem like her parents were huggers, or much of anything for that matter. He couldn't remember the last time she'd mentioned her drug-addicting mother and her father had been in prison since she was only five when he'd tried to drown her in the bathtub. A small scar still shone on the back of her neck if the moonlight hit it just right. He liked to watch her sleep despite how much of a stalker he knew it must make him. It felt like the only time he could connect with her without tearing all her walls down again.
"It could be worse," he said. "At least your last name isn't Spadingle."
"It was the guy at the park." She looked up at him now with blue eyes wide and filled with little liquid droplets about to run down her quivering lips. "He had a little boy and they were feeding the ducks and I kept waiting for him to push the little boy in and just see his body float to the surface."
By this point her legs were twitching and her face shone red. "I hate this. I don't want to cry. I hate crying and I hate being such a weak, stupid girl."
"I almost jumped into the Potomac," Martin blurted out. Monica blinked and stared at him. He flushed and looked away.
"Not really, I mean I would have had to just swim back out. It was cold so I thought I would drown, but of course I don't want to drown and then I thought about being an old lady and I could wear a purple hat..." He trailed off and found himself stammer
"I don't get it." Monica pulled her knees up under her chin and rested her forehead against them. Her hair fell over her legs in a brown wave mixing with blue denim waterfalls.
"You're the one who got hurt," she said, her voice muffled by her knees. "I should be comforting you and telling you it's okay and all that bullshit and instead I freak out on a bi-monthly basis and turn into this mess."
Martin resisted the urge to give her a hug. His parents had been big huggers, especially his mom. Monica didn't seem like her parents were huggers, or much of anything for that matter. He couldn't remember the last time she'd mentioned her drug-addicting mother and her father had been in prison since she was only five when he'd tried to drown her in the bathtub. A small scar still shone on the back of her neck if the moonlight hit it just right. He liked to watch her sleep despite how much of a stalker he knew it must make him. It felt like the only time he could connect with her without tearing all her walls down again.
"It could be worse," he said. "At least your last name isn't Spadingle."
"It was the guy at the park." She looked up at him now with blue eyes wide and filled with little liquid droplets about to run down her quivering lips. "He had a little boy and they were feeding the ducks and I kept waiting for him to push the little boy in and just see his body float to the surface."
By this point her legs were twitching and her face shone red. "I hate this. I don't want to cry. I hate crying and I hate being such a weak, stupid girl."
"I almost jumped into the Potomac," Martin blurted out. Monica blinked and stared at him. He flushed and looked away.
"Not really, I mean I would have had to just swim back out. It was cold so I thought I would drown, but of course I don't want to drown and then I thought about being an old lady and I could wear a purple hat..." He trailed off and found himself stammer
