Behind these walls

Hurt

Even a crack of hope can shatter ones wall of despair. That's exactly what I thought after Ryland lay with me for what felt like an eternity the other day, he finally lifted me up and put me to bed and then to my surprise, stayed to clean the house so that my father would never know I had an emotional breakdown. The mirror was somehow completely fixed but I discovered I now have a new scar. Along my right knuckles, from where I punched the mirror, is a long white meandering scar that traces along the curve of my fingers and up the back of my hand. It didn't even look bad, just painful.

I hear the front door slam shut and footsteps with heavy boots on, tread along the wooden floorboards downstairs. The white carpeted stairs creak under his weight and my bedroom door slowly opens, light splaying into my room like a lighthouse in the dark midnight sky. His silhouette is dark against the pale light beaming from behind him. He enters my room, his sturdy frame huge against the tiny space. I sit on the edge of my bed, with my face down, looking at the floor and my hands are limp by my sides.

His strong hand grasps my frail wrist and pulls, hard, causing me to fall to my knees on the hard floor. My just past shoulder- length brown hair whips around my face in what almost seems like an angry flurry. He jerks my chin up with a free hand and looks me straight in my aqua eyes, the perfect mirror image of his own. His gaze turns disgusted as he looks at me and his hand comes out from underneath my chin. I see his arm spasm and before I know it, his palm makes contact with the side of my cheek. My body falls sideways from the impact of the force and my head hits the floor with a loud thud. I see him through my curtain of hair yelling at me, although I can't make out what he is saying. Everything seems to be happening in slow motion. He notices me not paying attention and walks out of the room, leaving me there. I close my eyes and breathe.

Ryland's P.O.V

My lungs are burning with the cool and crisp night air as I jump over a fallen log. Hot swirls of my oxygen become visible in the cold air as my breathing becomes more desperate. My throat feels stripped raw. This was my favourite part about running. When you get to the point of the exercise becoming a challenge. When your lungs scream out for air and your legs plead at you to stop. Each step sends pain reverberating throughout my body, the burning sensation crawling up my legs, then my arms.

My ankles become tangled in vines and plants as I run through the forest, their branches attacking my face and body. I close my eyes, take out my white iPod from my red jacket and scroll through the music. Choosing one at random, I readjust the headphones hanging from my ears and turn up the music so I hear nothing. I breathe harder and harder, feeling oxygen pass from my nostrils through my trachea and into my lungs. I run like this for several more meters when suddenly, I hit something and hear a girl's voice say "Ouch!"

"Shit- I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going and- wait, Clara?" I stop breathing for a moment as I see who I stumbled into. I rip out my headphones. A bright light from the lamppost overhead shines rays over us. Laying there on the muddy floor, in black and purple work out clothing is Clara with what looks like a fresh bruise on her cheek. Did I do that? There's no way it could be forming that quick if I did. I take a step forward and hold out my hand to help her up, but she doesn't take it. Instead, she gets up by herself, dusts her body off and begins walking away.

"Clara, wait up. I really am sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Just drop it, Ryland. You didn't do anything wrong." Her tone strikes deep and it hurts me. What the hell was that all about? She sees me open mouthed, gaping at her and sighs.

"Sorry. I didn't mean it that way. I've had a rough day." She breathes out and reaches up to tighten her ponytail.

"Yeah." There was nothing else I could think of to say.