User blog:Doggygirl10/Heavy Rain - Chapter 3

I woke up the next morning. I had a headache but I remembered that I am going to Starbucks with Ian today. I got up and my head started to throb. So I decided to take a long nap. I will admit the main reason is for passing time, but rest usually cures my headaches. I fell back to sleep for a few more hours.

Later I woke up at 2:32, so I just got some clothes picked out. It was supposed to be cold today so I got a blank white tee and jeans with a jacket. I was stuck on which jacket I should wear; comfortable or pretty. In the end I decided that I would wear the comfortable one, which was just a plain, unextraordinary grey. I threw them on along with some old navy Vans. Except, I only wore one shoe because I couldn't wear two. I texted Ian:

Hi. Still going for water?

He responded in minute later:

No. Let's cancel. I've got better things to do than go out for a water bottle with a lovely girl.

I smiled even though I didn't believe it. Lovely? Me? There is nothing lovely about a girl with one leg. He sent another message:

Him: Just kidding. Looking foward to it. How are you? :-) Me: Okay. Bored, I guess. You? Him: Waiting rather impatiently.

I didn't say anything after that. I checked my Facebook on my phone. One friend, who is my grandpa, posted something on my wall which read:

I had a wonderful night with you, Cassie. Wish it could be that way every day. I love you so much.

I commented:

I love you, too, Grandpa. I miss you right now. I can schedule something for tomorrow if you are free? <3

I listened to this Snow Patrol song called "Open Your Eyes" which I made about opening your eyes to life, even though that wasn't the true meaning  of the song. I go by this thought where you can choose what the song is really about. Like, have your own perspective on things instead of having somebody else's. It is what you make it to be.

The time took forever to pass by, but when it was finally seven o'clock, I walked out the door to my room with my crutches in hand. I locked the door so that when my dad gets home and he tries to be with me or whatever, he'll think I locked the door and I'm asleep. I took the key from the drawer in the kitchen and walked out the door. Ian wasn't there yet, so I sat on the steps and waited. He finally pulled up in a red mustang. He put it in park and got out, leaving the engine running. He was wearing a zipped up navy Hollister jacket and dark jeans with checkered shoes. His brown hair swept over the top of his forehead. I felt rather shy as he was walking toward me. "Hi," he said. "You look pretty." "As do you," I responded, but I had caught my mistake. "But handsome, not pretty." He laughed. "Shall we go?" He smiled the same time I did, because I was happy with him; as I was with my grandpa. He opened my door and I retracted my crutches (I had retrctables) and climbed in, putting my foot-long crutches on the car's floor. He closed the door for me and got in on the driver's side. He closed the door and put his seatbelt on quickly, then put the car in drive and we roared off. "Your car?" I started. "No, my dad's," he responded while glancing at me. "Oh." He nodded. I liked talking to him, so I started the conversation up once again. "Do you have friends?" "Yes, I do. I have five. You?" "Yes, if a grandpa counts." He laughed. "I'm not joking, Ian. Besides you, I mean, he's my only friend." He stopped laughing. "I feel bad now," he told me. I laughed to make him feel better, but I was, in fact, actually hurt by his laughing. "Sorry." "It's okay. I know, it's kind of pathetic," I said, trying to make fun of myself as a joke, but in reality, it was true. It was pathetic. It was silent for a while until he spoke.

"Talk about you. Like, weird things about you." Without a moment's pause, I said, "Music. And how you can make the lyrics mean anything you want." He gave me a funny look. "Really? So, here, what's this song about?" He played a song called "Nothing Left to Say" by a band called Staind. When it was over, he looked at me in anticipation. I looked at him and he looked back at the road. "So, what's it about in your eyes?" "A conversation ending. The terrible moment when silence takes over." "Okay, that's what I was thinking, too," he said. "But, like, songs about drugs that say, something like 'I love them so much/ they mean so much to me/ can't live without them/ I don't know what I'd be'. I'd take that as talking about family, or friends. Not drugs," I explained. "You are good at writing lyrics about drugs. You should be Lil Wayne's writer," he said. I laughed. He laughed. I liked him. Very much. We arrived at Wendy's. I looked at him and asked, "No Starbucks?" Ian put the car in park and turned the engine off. "No. I figured I would be able to spend more time with you if we actually ate some food." He looked into my eyes and I looked into his. It was quiet for a moment until I opened my door, but he reached over me and pulled it shut. What is he doing? He got out of the car and went around the back. He opened my door for me and got my crutches out. He tried to lengthen them, and for a while he couldn't, but after a while he found the button, held it down, and pulled them out to their full size. I laughed to myself. He extended his hand out to me and I took it to get out, then I positioned the crutches under my arms. "Thanks," I said. We walked inside, him opening the door and being a gentleman and everything. We walked in, ordered, and sat down beside the window, in our own little corner. I placed my crutches between the window and the table. We started to eat and I asked, "Who are your five friends?" "I'd love it if you would meet them!" He exclaimed. "Okay? Uh, when?" I wondered. "Tomorrow?" He asked. "Sure," I said. I had forgotten all about my promise to do something with my grandpa tomorrow. It'll be okay, I can just edit or delete my reply, I thought. "Awesome. So, I was wondering what kind of food you liked? I would've taken you to a nicer place than this if I had known what you prefer." "Itilian?" I actually wondered what I prefered besides Golden Corrall. I'd never thought about that as if such things mattered. "Okay, well, next time we do this, get I dress on or something because we are going somewhere nice." He smiled. I took a bite out of my crispy chicken burger. "Um, I was going to ask you this last night, but you hung up on me." "I told you that my dad was there with me." "Which leads me to another question: why do you want your dad dead?" "Long story that I don't feel like telling right now." I felt like crying. Apparently he noticed and he took my hand across the table. "Okay, sorry," he said. And after a while he asked, "Do you like me?" "That's something for you to find out." I smiled at him. He smiled back. "Fine." I laughed. I enjoyed playing hard-to-get, but I knew boys didn't like it, so I told him the truth. "Yes, I do. You are a very nice guy, Ian." He smiled and seemed excited. I let his hand go and stayed silent for the rest of the time. Occasionally I would catch him staring at me, and he would look down at his food quickly and laugh. When we got done, he asked me if I had wanted to come to his house for a little while. "Sure," I responded.