He Was A Skaterboy | COMPLETE

seventeen

Kiara closed the door to the bathroom softly, letting her bare feet sink into the plush carpeted floor, she paused seeing Emre sitting on the chair by her bed. Ignoring his presence, she walks to the vanity silently picking up her moisturiser. His reflection clear in the mirror in front of her, his gaze heavy on her. Unscrewing the cover, she dotted it on her face with sluggish movements, before rubbing it in. She hissed in pain when she rubbed her cheek a bit too hard and knew that Emre heard it when she saw him slowly rise from the chair in the mirror.

"Turn around," he said, his voice gravelly.

Kiara continued ignoring him, applying the usual makeup primer.

"Kiara," she heard the unspoken order in the tone of his voice. But she was tired, she was too tired for the confrontation that she knew was about to happen. She was too tired to hash out whatever it was between them. Too tired to talk about why she flinched when she touched her cheek.

Before she could reach for the foundation, she was ripped away from the vanity. Gasping, Emre's grip was tight on her arm. His gaze fixated on her right cheek, the side of her face that Moussa's stinging blow landed on. His fingers with whisper light touch caressed her cheek and Kiara couldn't stop herself from squeezing her eyes tight. A reactionary action awaiting the pain that she was so sure would come.

"What the fuck happened, Kiara?" his tone a harsh contrast to his feather light touch.

"Let go," she said flatly.

"You're hurt. Someone hurt you," he continued bitterly. "Who?"

"Stop," Kiara said after a beat. "Just stop it."

"What do you mean, stop?"

"It means exactly what it does. Stop Emre. Just stop."

"Kiara, what if it happens again. Before it was your knuckles when you played wrongly...now this...What if-"

"You are not the hero in whatever this is."

"What...What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said. You are not the hero. You are not my hero. You are nothing here." His arms dropped from her around her like he had been burnt by the licks of anger in her words.

"Kiara...don't. Don't try to fucking hurt me on purpose."

"What were we even doing? It was so silly, wasn't it? Walking around Times Square, watching the sun rise, and thinking that we could change things. How incredible naïve, right?"

"Don't...don't say shit like that. You can change things. There's still time."

"I can't. Everything has been decided. There is nothing that I can do. There is no hero in this story."

"Then be your own fucking hero, Kiara. Be the change that you want."

"I'm tired. I'm just...too tired..."

He was silent as she walked back to the vanity and picked up her foundation with trembling fingers. He watched as she efficiently covered the pinkened skin on her right cheek. The painted on foundation hid the evidence of whatever that had happened. Gently applying blush on her cheekbones she paused at her own reflection. She looked like Kiara, she probably sounded like Kiara, but she wasn't so sure anymore.