Delicate Pulse | Violentine

Erasing You ~ Part 1

The office chairs are the most intolerable ones I've had to sit in. They are wrapped in leather and the backrest elevates too far back so someone my height can't settle in a comfortable position. Every time I try to adjust myself I slip and the friction creates this annoying squeaky noise. I give up and perch forward instead. The boy prodded next to me pays no attention, craving into a blunt pencil with his fingernail. He's wearing a dark hoodie, washed-out basketball shorts and tattered shoes. He has a scrawny sketch of a dagger knife struggling above his ankle. It looks so bad, practically begging to be erased from existence. It suddenly comes alive and twists away from me, the boy scoffs. "Found something interesting?"

"Yeah, that ugly tattoo of yours," I splutter, a little embarrassed for being caught.

"Could say the same about your hat," he sneers in return.

I shift away from him. "I'm guessing you've gone and pissed someone off," I mutter.

He straightens his posture to stretch and slumps again. "I put a bunch of kids in first aid a few days ago. Not my intention by the way."

I couldn't forget the thunderous racket pulsating from that room. I raise my eyebrows. "It sounded like there was a whole classroom in there," I say and he perks up with interest. "What the hell did you do?"

"Exploding ping pong balls," he brags quietly. "I think they found out about the printer too, from a few weeks back."

I match his level of volume. "That was you? Aasim, right?"

"It was meant for Louis," he clarifies. "He chewed up the end of one of my pens, thought he might like a taste. Whatever it still worked."

I glance down at his ankle again and then back at him. "You know, now that I've taken a better look at it, it doesn't look half bad."

He shakes his head while chuckling to himself. "Calm down, I'm not gonna waste my time coming after you. Besides, your name is punishing enough."

"Alright then, what's your name?"

"Mitchell," calls Carley, interrupting us. "Mr Ericson will see you now."

"Rip," he sighs, groaning as he gets up. He slips the pencil along with his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. He has a swagger in his stroll as he enters the Headmasters room. For someone who is obviously about to get lectured, he is awfully calm about it. Shortly after, Carley motions me to stand and engage with her.

"Sorry for the wait," she smiles apologetically, sorting papers as she passes me a sealed packet with a prominent circular lump. "A package arrived for you today from your parents."

I juggle it, calculating its weight. It's not very heavy but it is eerily familiar. I shortly realise she's waiting for me to open it in front of her. I tear the seal loose with my finger and tilt the packet to let the object roll into my hand. It's a baseball but not just any random one, this was the one I had signed by the famous baseball player Javier Garcia who happened to be my past neighbours' son. I had left it sitting on my bedroom shelf at home in Georgia. I had thought about packing it into my suitcase but I couldn't because of listed restrictions. I gaze up at Carley in confusion.

"I heard you go a 'B+' in history the other day," she whispers, growing serious. "Promise me you won't use it to inflict harm on anyone."

I squeeze the ball in my hand. "Of course," I manage to cough out.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I exit the office, throwing the ball back and forth between my hands. I was obsessed with this thing as a kid, I hardly ever put it down. It's been so long that the signature ink has faded and bled through the exterior shell. I feel touched by it, a sense of comfort. I make a note to myself to call my parents as soon as-