I had no clue how long I sat there. All I knew was that the bus should have been there by now. Did the bus have a schedule at night? I checked the time on my phone: around seven o’clock. It was fine, there wasn’t any where important I wanted to go. I just needed to get away from home for a bit.
The bus finally pulled up a few minutes later. I slowly stepped on board and headed to an empty seat in the middle. If the bus driver did say anything to me, I didn’t hear. I only wanted to sit down and ignore the rest of the world. The bus, soon, lurched forward and drove off.
I stared off into space as we passed by houses and grassy lawns. The darkness of the night sky gave off an eerie feeling to the world, but, unfortunately, I couldn’t focus on it. My mind kept drifting to the pain from all my cuts and bruises. Cautiously, I looked at my fellow passengers to see if anyone would notice what I was doing. Luckily, half of them were asleep while the other half were engrossed in a book or watching the world outside.
Slowly, I pushed my sleeve back a bit to look at the scars on my wrists. One still appeared fresh from earlier this morning. I traced my finger along them feeling the small bit of elevation the scar had against the pale skin. The older scars just appeared as straight white lines. Only the ones that I picked at still made indentations.
I pushed the sleeve forward so my wrist was covered again. I was done looking at the scars, plus, I didn’t want to risk other people seeing them for any longer. If anyone saw them, they would think I needed help. Help that I didn’t need.
The bus slowed to a stop. I glanced out to see where. Monet’s, that one coffee place. Nope, didn’t want to stop here. I just wanted to keep going. Just further and further away from home. I probably wouldn’t decide to get off until I feel like I’m on the complete opposite side of town. Then I’ll probably just walk back. Or maybe I might go to the park and hang out there for the night. I’ll decide once I get to that point.
A guy walked on. He was wearing headphones. The driver said something to him and he nodded. I was sure he looked familiar, I just couldn’t remember how. He walked over and sat in the seat in front of me. The bus stayed parked for a couple of minutes, then finally went forward. I ended up ignoring everything around me just to figure out how I recognized that guy. It finally came to me after a few minutes.
Clay Jenson from eighth grade. I smirked. I knew the best way to get his attention. I looked over the back rest to look down to him. (I partially hoped my long hair wouldn’t give me away.)
In the most casual way I could, “Miss your stop, Clay?”