Love Misunderstood

There's no way I'll make it on time!

What happened to my chemistry book?

"Last night, I was sure I left it right here!" I mumble under my breathe, anger and worry seeping through my body.

I rummage through my novels and drawings on my desk, I create an even bigger mess than when I began. Mum is going to call my room a pigsty. I usually care what she thinks and a little too much at times, that is until I can't to find the one thing I needed for today, besides I knew where most of my things were in the mess. My hairbrush is on my floor under a pile of clothes next to my bag, I step around the destroyed bed in my god awful space I call my bedroom, and just head to the bathroom to get ready.

"You're going to be late, Lacey!" I hear my mother Julia yell downstairs in the kitchen.

Screw it!

I'm rush to brush my teeth and quickly run back to my room and get the brush under the mountain of rubbish on my floor and head back to my place at the sink. I glance in the mirror and as usual I hate what I see. I see the eyes that had so much life drain a bit more since yesterday ended and this new week begins, my dull blonde hair looks like a nest of birds lived in it or "rats tails" as my Grandma says.

Mum says I look like her when she was younger. I'm not sure if she meant it as a compliment or an insult because no offence but I don't want to end up like her, she is beautiful in her own way but you know what they say "If you want to find out what your wife looks like when she is older look at her mother." If that is where I am headed I can't tell how I feel about it, but I can't see our resemblance but others see different. My dad says I've inherited her evil eye or the "mother look." as he calls it.

My eyes travel to the picture on my shelf as I brush my 'what i call hair' in the mirror. It's a picture of both my parents, my dad holding his arms around me, hugging me to his front with a massive smile after making me laugh from tickling me, I must have been around eleven and my mother holding a small light blonde baby, my little brother Brody.

If only that little girl knew what was in store for her later.

This must be the only picture in the whole house that has all four of us together. My parents are divorced, they have been for years and I guess they get along better now, only took almost ten years, but there are less arguments and replaced with nice conversations however they still bicker but I'm not bothered anymore. It's my 'normal.'

I make sure to take Brody away from them when they are antsy because I don't want him around that since I remember when they did it all the time, my earliest memory is them arguing.

I was five and I ran upstairs to get something and mum was so angry at dad that neither had any idea I was behind them. Whatever dad said really pissed mum off and she started yelling, even more louder than before and then went onto bang the door of his office slash new bedroom against the banister, she smashed it so hard I thought it would break, I ran downstairs as quickly and quietly as they could and I don't think they ever knew I was there.

I see the smile I wore when I was younger, it might not have been pretty but it was real, now ten years later it's the other way around, I suppose it's pretty since I got my braces off two years ago but every other smile is more fake than WWE wrestling.

I am living with mum and Brody, who is now eight-years-old. He has grown up too fast but at the same time not fast enough, when he was born we got attached so quick, we got along better since it was a big age gap of eleven years, before he could talk I swear he could understand how i felt, he would always hold my finger and stare at my eyes and my troubles left for the meantime. Whether that was friendships or boys, Brody was not only my baby brother but my best friend, he always comes first.

I couldn't wait for him to talk and now sometimes I wish I didn't since now he is never quiet, even sleeping he is known for his sleep talking marathons. But I don't know what I'd do if i went a day without hearing his voice.

When he was born he had very light fair hair but now he has grown into the same shaggy blonde hair as me yet his is a few shades darker. He appears just below my shoulder but catching up slow, I know when he gets to twelve he will take over me. 'If you see siblings and one is taller just know they are the youngest.'

His presence brightens my days. However, I have noticed that my hormones haven't been on my side during my recent teenage years. I am somewhat content with the fact that I will not be around as much when he becomes a teenager, but I am also saddened that my mother will have to live through it, after what i put her through.

I shake away the plummeting feeling of the past and carry on with what i am doing. If my life was a diary it would have the messiest handwriting nobody would understand.

Dear diary, My name is Lacey Evans, nineteen-years-old with blonde hair and blue eyes like the sky and a height of five feet two. Whereas everyone else is prepared and has great time management skills, one of my main flaws is loosing everything important and finding things I don't need!

Yeah, nobody would want to read that.

I am now looking for my phone, I scan my room which looks like its been invaded and find it on my desk, my right hand grabs my clear phone case showing an arcade ticket and old cinema receipt inside at the back of the phone, I turn it on and notice the time.

Shit, My time blindness is getting worse!

I have to be at school in twenty minutes, so I decide to speed walk down the stairs. I am praying for Mr. Coleman not to stab me with a pitchfork. He is the most feared teacher in school and he hates people being late. Now I am in university I feel even more nervous, it is a bigger place with more students and I am stuck in the mindset of school and afraid anything I do will result in a telling off.

I make it down the stairs, feeling proud that I did not trip on the first step. Unfortunately, I slipped on the second to last step and fell flat on my back. My limbs are now aching, I hear from above me a muffled laugh, I look up to see Brody with his hand on his stomach and bursts out in a state of hysterics.

I give him a look and he stops dead in his tracks, "Uh oh, the mother look" he whispers and starts to slip away. My brother and I rarely quarrel but on the rare occasion we do, I look at him and slowly stand up. I mentally high-five for not having a skirt on. Brody is watching me with a worried, scared expression on his face.

I jump at him and begin to tickle him relentlessly.

"Lala, don't tickle me!" It's a nickname he's been repeating since he was born, and it makes my heart skip a beat every time he says it. My hands are on him and he's struggling with me with his laughter in my ears. I see the clock on the wall and I almost shout. I get up and mum is glaring at me because I'm obviously late.

Mum voice cuts the air as she says or more demands, "I'll give you a ride today, but tomorrow you'll have to take the bus. If you're late again, I'll drop you off and you'll get in for detention."

Even though its university she knows I won't get a detention but she still thinks she can say the word 'detention' and I will get scared, technically she is right, but I am not letting her know that.

I just roll my eyes and mumble "Nothing new there." I grab my bag and we all head out to the car. We arrive at the university I am studying at and I'm surprised but scared to see it's almost empty.

Crap! Everyone is already in!

I say good-bye to them both and hop out. I'm running for my first class, banging my shoes against the ground as I go in the echoey hallways. Please don't trip, please don't trip. By the time I make it to the classroom door, I'm gasping for air.

I am so physically unfit that I will only run if I hear footsteps in the darkness. I rush to my seat, fearing for my life as I see that Mr. Coleman is writing something on the board, he is a heavy man with grey hair, eagle like bushy eyebrows and to top it off he has small circular glasses that makes him think he is intimidating.

I make it to my seat without being seen, maybe I am safe, "Cutting it close a bit there Lacey." a loud deep voice startles everyone... maybe I'm in the dragons den.

"Sorry sir, the bus was running late." I doubt he will believe me.

"I understand, but don't let it happen again." I nod back and he then drifts his eyes behind me at the wall, I turn and see the timetable of the bus times to help students manage time going to and from Uni. I notice the last bus should have arrived over half an hour ago. I know right then that I am...(one of my favourite bands growing up) Busted!

He is staring at me. I conceal myself with my hair as he surveys the room, I try and hide my growing strawberry red face of embarrassment from everyone. I glance at the bookshelves in the corner, then recall that there are additional textbooks in the library, and I raise my hand in an effort to gain his attention.

God I am being really annoying right now.

I go up to his desk and stand in front of him. Since my anxiety is so bad I am too scared to just walk out to go to the bathroom since I am still in the mindset of school and I am too nervous of getting in trouble, even if the rules are more loose here.

"Can I go to the toilet, please?" he sighs really loud, ok rude! I know he is going to tell me no since I've already messed up once this morning, but I keep going. He is not known to let anyone out the classroom without a valid reason, to me this is definitely one of those times.

I know the right answer to make him say yes. I say in the quietist voice I can muster, "My stomach is bothering me; I think it might be that I am late in my period and I am having cramps. I am having a heavy flow, and I don't want blood on my seat-" I am rambling so much my hands are shaking I'm so nervous, I can't believe I'm even saying this.

The mention of blood made his face pale, (ironic since he is a science teacher and we learn about blood, I am going to hold onto this information and use it as maybe a little blackmail if needed in the future) I see a wrinkly hand in front of my face and my voice quietens. "You can go." he said, shaking his hand dismissively, happy that the conversation was finished.

I'm walking out with a small smile on my face, ready to run to the library and see if I can find the book I'm looking for. Maybe I'll check out some romance books, I just can't get enough of them!

I wish I was the main character in the story, I just want to have that kind of experience in real life, most days I feel homesick for a place that doesn't exist.

I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I didn't realize I was out in front of the library. I open the door and look around the room skimming to look for the T for Textbooks.

I saw some textbooks, but I figured I could get the book in no time, there's a whole aisle full. I'm sure it wouldn't hurt to check out the book collection now that I'm here, besides who would be rushing to get a textbook anyway?

As I am walking up the stairs, I head over to the secluded area and start looking, but not even twenty seconds in, I hear quickened breath coming from behind the bookshelf on the other side. Being curious but not wanting to see something I might regret walking into, I stalk very quietly over to the shelf and look around it.

Please don't be something that makes my eyes burn and brain melt!

I don't see anything in my eye line... that is until I look down. I notice a young man who looks to be around my age, a bit older with bushy, curly, brunette almost black hair cascading around his face. A leather jacket resting against his trembling knee, a long, white-sleeved shirt that showed signs of having not been washed for several days, and trousers that appeared to have undergone a great deal of wear and tear.

His body is trembling, his voice begins to catch in his throat. It was then that I became aware that he is suffering from what looks like an anxiety attack; his hands are shaking profusely and the guy is holding them close to his chest, and his breathing is becoming increasingly rapid, eventually hyperventilating.

It doesn't scare me too much because anxiety attacks are one of the worst things to go through, I used to have them every few days but it has gotten a lot better recently. I dropped my hand from the shelf, before I know it, I bumped a book and it fell to the floor. The guy looks up in a panic, his eyes wide, it suddenly hit me: it's Caden James! He is the only person I wished it wasn't. I'd heard rumors about him, but I'd never really thought about it, since I've never seen nor spoken to him since our paths have never crossed. Now it's all coming back to me.

I keep reminding myself that I do not know him, therefore I will not judge him. He looks at me with a look like he wants to yell at me for interrupting but nothing comes out. I take a step closer to him testing the waters and he ducks further into the corner.

I walk twice as slow as I was before and sit down close to him enough that I almost touch his knee. We both sit cross legged and he closes his eyes. I've never seen him like this before, he is usually so...intimidating.

He closes his eyes as if fighting the demons in his mind. I know the feeling. I try to swallow my fear and comfort him by holding his shaking hand. He opens his eyes at lightning speed and fixes his gaze on my eyes. I breathe enough for him to see my pace, and he slowly begins to copy my breathing pattern, calming down not tearing his stare off me. He closes his eyes, takes a few deep breaths, grips my hand again and lets go. I wait with him until his breathing is back to normal.

It seems like he is looking at anything but me, but I have been looking at nothing but him. He scoots over when I try to take his hand again when Istart to see it shake once again. He looks at me, and all I see is embarrassment and vulnerability.

"There is nothing to be embarrassed about; I have them all the time," I say in a soft tone. I offer the smallest of smiles, and he just looks at me and says nothing. He opens his mouth and runs his tongue from left to right, making his lips wet. I feel as if he is about to utter a word, but all I hear is silence.

I don't know how to feel. I'm either happy or sad that I didn't receive a response.

I start to stand up. Caden watches my every move. Feeling vulnerable myself, I look away from his piercing gaze. "I hope you feel better." I make my way to the end of the shelf, about five feet from him. As I am about to turn the corner, I hear a voice so quiet, almost like I never heard it at all, say,

"Thank you"