"He easily finds the kid, half-heartedly hiding behind a book that he would most definitely never read as it’s called: The Earth, My Butt and Other Big Round Things."
“…I’m sure I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, come off it, man.” He peers at the kids hands. He reaches for the book and pulls it away with ease. Goddammit. This punk isn’t even half the artist’s size and he can still take the book away from him! God really must hate the artist…
“Hey! Give that back!” He tries reaching for it, but feels just ridiculous, so he just pauses as the kid flips through the book.
“Not yet…I’m not…done yet…” He bites his fingernail and flips through the book, which really pisses the artist off. He’s balancing it with one hand. The artist signs off his death right there when he takes the opportunity to snatch the book back. “Dickhead!” Shouts the punk and punches the artist in the stomach. He triples over and the punk takes the sketchbook away from him again. He starts to run out the door, but stops and looks back towards the artist, hunched over, taking in deep breaths. He grins his famous toothy smile at the artist, who frowns in return. “I’ll see ya in hell, motherfucker!” He shouts, just as the librarian returns from lunch. She stares fiercely at the punk, who runs out the door, flipping the artist off.
“Oh, my god.” The librarian states, rushing over to the artist. “Are you okay, sweetie?” She reminds the artist of the mother who he never had. All this attention on him is overwhelming, so he breathes in and looks straight ahead, not at her face. He barely looks people in the face. “Was it that other boy in here?” He glances down at his lap and wrings his hands together; his face is slowly changing to a stupid red color.
“No…I’m…I’m okay…” He grimaces and helps himself off of the floor. “It’s okay…” She looks at him like she doesn’t believe a word. “I’ve just got a stomachache.” Both of them know it isn’t true. But he feels that the lie can’t die on him, because he feels like everything in his life has died on him...so he fabricates as a sort of last hurrah. “I’m fine. Really.”
“But…you should go to the nurse.” She says. He wants desperately out of this conversation. She is completely oblivious to his awkwardness. “Let me help you there.” She offers taking his arm.
“No!” He shouts, which catches her slightly off guard. “I mean, no…no, ma’am. I’m okay.” The last thing he wants is a fuckin’ escort to the nurse’s office. She sighs hesitantly and smiles nervously at him.
“Alright, then…I’m right here if you need me, okay, sweetie?” He nods blindly. He’s not really there anymore. He’s off in his head.
“Mhmm. Thank you, ma’am.” He says and heads out the door. He is unbelievably pissed at the moment. Mostly at himself for being stupid enough to talk like that in front of a fucking prick like that kid. And for not being strong…or smart. He mutters to himself, insanely, about how uncool he is and how much deep shit he’s in now. And if uncool is really a word. And then he realizes it’s not a word and he goes off on how totally stupid he is.