Where The Dandelions Grow

04 - Patience of a Saint

Echo's POV

I turn the water on, panting and puffing, gripping the side of the porcelain sink so tightly that my fingers begin to hurt.

How could he be so cruel?

I stare at the woman I despise so much in the mirror, the skin around her eyes puffy and red once again. This time the tears can't stop dripping into the sink, slowly trickling down the drain. I press a hand into my chest, firmly gripping my shirt. I'm used to it. I'm used to the betrayal, the fakeness people over the years have shown me. This shouldn't have been a surprise that the people who seem to want to help truly don't give a shit about me. They don't care that I cry myself to sleep every night. They don't care how hard it is to get out of bed or wash.

And Brandon. He sounded so sincere. What a fucking joke he is. Before today, I had felt upset at how I ended our call. I even debated calling back a few times just in case I got to speak to him again, so I could say sorry.

Fuck that and fuck him and—

The door of the large single-stall bathroom flies open. "Echo?"

I back up and stare at Brandon in the doorway. He's sounding more and more like how he was on the call every time he speaks; the familiarity makes sense now.

"It's you, right?" I spit the words to him. "How could you sit there on the p-phone and pretend?" My voice cracks, the tears making it hard to talk, but I continue as I pace the bathroom in a circle, anger boiling my blood. "You made me think you actually might've cared—"

"Hey, you need to calm down, you're getting too overstim—"

"I don't want to calm down!" I land a stomp so hard a slight sting shoots up my leg. The music just behind the bathroom door is so loud I can't even think. My mind is running rapidly at a speed that makes me want to rip my brains out and the person I'd like to see the very least is standing in front of me, telling me to calm down.

I close my eyes, tears pooling down my face and connecting at the tip of my nose and chin, dripping off. I try to catch my breath with quicker breaths but it only makes it worst. And here I am, on the floor against a bathroom door, nothing different than me at home in my own bathroom. Only this time, someone's here to witness it.

I put my hands over my ears and bring my knees up to my mouth, cocooning myself into a ball, and covering my crying face. I hate it when people see me cry, but I can't stop this.

"How c-could you," I sob. "How could you t-tell them? You're just like everyone else, you don't care. Nobody cares."

I feel him begin to walk toward me, but I don't raise my head from behind my knees. He sits down right beside me, keeping just enough space between us so that he's not touching me. I expect him to speak, but he doesn't. He keeps silent.

"Fuck you," I mutter, sniffling. "I hate you." The tears don't stop. I raise my head and stare at his side profile, half covered by brown strands of hair.

Expressionless, I whisper. "You're worthless, Brandon. You know that?" He only stares forward, his throat bobbing as he swallows. "You think you're cool, hm, making fun of those people that call? Was it funny when I told you I wanted to talk to someone? When I said that I was in... in an empty tub with pills? Was my attempt a joke to you and your friends?"

He stays quiet.

"Answer me!" I almost beg, itching for the answer I already know is true.

"No," he says, turning to look at me for the first time since he sat down. It's now that I realize he's been crying as well. "No, of course not, Echo. What you heard was not from me. Those people aren't my friends and that is why."