eight

                                    

                                          
"Hey, I'm Connor. What's your name?" He says with a smile that glows.
                          
I look up and Connor is staring at me. His eyebrows are raised, and amusement is etched onto his face. I begin to wonder frantically why he could possibly be staring at me, when I realize that he has asked me a question and I have not given him an answer.
                          
I flush a crimson red. "Oh sorry. Um, hi, my name's Sady. But I go by Sades, too." I answer, shyly. The only emotion visible in my voice is embarrassment. He chuckles. 
                          
"Well, Sady, its nice to meet you." He says, with the smile still on his face. His Scottish accent peeks out a little, in every word he says. The accent itself is subtle and quite appealing to the ear. It's not one of those obnoxious accents that people tend to overdo.
                          
"Likewise." I murmur, with a tiny smile. He has no idea. In all honestly, I'm shocked to even believe that I'm talking to him right now. I would say that my lucky stars are finally aligning, but with my recent history, I can't quite make that insinuation yet.
                          
"So Sady, if you don't mind me asking, what happened that landed you here? You know, in the hospital?" He says, wonder clear in his features. The mood shifts noticeably, after he asks that question.
                          
"What happened? Bradley Simpson is what happened." I want to tell him. 
                          
But I know that I can't. I can't because it will most likely get back to Bradley, and he will twist it into some kind of sick lie to save his butt, and his image. I don't hate him, Lord knows why I don't, but I don't. And in all honesty, I hate myself more than I could ever hate him. 
                          
I absentmindedly look down at the large stitch on my left arm, the sickly purple skin around it, and the faint bruises on my right arm. Connor's eyes flicker to what I'm looking at and he looks as though he regrets his question. 
                          
"Er.. it's okay if you don't really want to answer. I get it." He says with a shrug. The smile still has not left his face, though it has shrunk marginally. He saw my discomfort and backed down. That was... nice of him. And I kind of admire him for it.
                          
I nod, timidly, still looking at my war zone of arms. "Thanks," I say quietly. "It's kind of a touchy subject for now." 
                          
There is an uncomfortable silence after the words leave my mouth. The silence is so uncomfortable to me, that I forcefully tear my eyes away from my arms and look up at Connor. He's staring at me, with a flurry of emotions flitting across his amazing eyes. I can't make out any of them, but I know that there must be pity located somewhere in those eyes. I wonder what emotions show through my eyes, if any at all, I'm so confused in my head right now that I don't even know what day it is today. 
                          
I decide to break the tension a bit. I can't be meeting Connor Ball and have him leaving with pity for me, in his perfect eyes. "So, what are you here for?" I ask him, managing a tiny smile. His answering smile is much bigger than mine, but not as big as his smile from the beginning of our conversation.
                          
"A good friend of mine had an... accident." He says with humor dancing in his eyes. I want to ask what is causing the sudden humor, but I decide against it. 
                          
I nod. "Hopefully, the accident wasn't as bad as mine." I joke, gesturing to my arms. He laughs lightly. "Oh, we'll be lucky if he can still walk, after his accident." Connor jokes, and it's my turn to laugh. 
                          
"So Sady, now that we're past the formalities, I have a serious question to ask you." He says, every feature on his face giving off a serious mood. I listen intently, as I await his question. 
                          
"Where do you store your various cheeses?" He asks, in all seriousness. If possible, he looks more serious than before. I want to laugh at his question, but instead I take it as seriously as he is taking it.