What I know

Part Two

My parents are proud of what I am going to become, because they are not like me. They are sad that I am going to die soon, but like me, they are aware that it is for the benefit of others, and selflessness is a desirable trait.

My mother is waiting for me, as she always is, in her car behind the buses. When I hop into the front seat she smiles at me. “How was your day today, pumpkin?” she asks me before turning out into the road and beginning the drive home.

Everyday my mother asks me the same question, but I have never understood why. My days are always the same; they are always good, except for today. Today was different. It was still good, but I spent a great portion of my day confused, and not over a tough problem in math or physics, but because of a boy.

“It was good,” I say, just as I usually do, “I was invited to join the swim team.”

My mother smiles a huge smile when she hears this. “That’s great pumpkin. You love swimming, I’m so proud of you.” She says enthusiastically.

“There was a new boy at school today.” I add, not wanting to leave anything out.

My mother looks at me briefly before turning her eyes back to the road. “Is he cute?” she asks, probably wondering why I brought it up.

“No he isn’t,” I say, “he’s dangerous.”

My mother looks worried, “you’re not afraid of him are you?” she asks.

“No, of course not.” I tell her because it’s true.

The rest of the evening goes as it normally does, I do homework, I eat dinner with my parents and then I go to sleep. When I wake up the next morning, I am happy, just as I always am. The smile never leaves my face as I get ready for school. My mother drops me off and I remind her that I will be finishing late because of swim practice. Then I walk to my French class and take my usual seat.

Again, I am studying the writing on my desk, trying to understand the motivations of the students who wrote it. I am so absorbed in my musings that I don’t notice when the classroom fills up around me. The thing that pulls me from my reverie is the feeling of someone’s fingers lightly brushing the bare skin on my upper arm.

I know exactly who is touching me, because his touch is the only thing that can make me feel this way. Conrad. The minor tingles that I felt yesterday when he grabbed me multiply. The feeling starts in my arm and they travel down to my fingers and through to my stomach and they settle lower. I know that I should pull away, but I don’t, because I want him to touch me. I have never wanted anything before now, but I want his hand on me. I cannot believe how this feels, to want something, I have never even wanted food before, and I eat because I know my body requires it, not because I like the taste. I tell myself what I am feeling is wrong, but it doesn’t feel wrong. But still I pull away.

For the rest of the day I avoid him, I chant to myself that I am right, that I am doing what needs to be done, for the greater good.

After my last class I walk towards the gym and prepare for swim practice. Mr Goldman looks excited as he sees Conrad and me, who emerges from the boy’s locker room at the same time, walk towards the pool. Conrad is covered just as he was yesterday, and I suppose that he was telling the truth about his tattoos.

“Did you think about what I told you yesterday?” Conrad whispers to me as we await Mr Goldman’s instructions.

“Yes,” I reply honestly, “and you’re wrong.” I tell him firmly because I know it’s true.

Conrad just shrugs and walks away from me, but not before he trails his fingers softly across the exposed skin on my back. I whimper softly as he removes his hands. He is wrong, I tell myself again before I do as coach commands.

I am the last person to leave the pool and I decide not to bother changing because I can do it at home. When I leave the gym I hear a muffled whimper from behind me. I turn and see a girl, Clara Bennett, crying. I walk over to her and kneel down in front of her. “What’s wrong?” I ask, because I know that you should always try to comfort someone who is hurting, and Clara Bennett is obviously hurting.

“Kasen?” she asks. I nod. “Lindsay Turner, she called me fat.” She whispers as though someone else can overhear.

“You shouldn’t listen to people like Lindsay Turner, Clara,” I tell her. “They like to hurt people.”

Clara looks comforted by my words. “Do you think I’m fat?” she asks.

I look her over. “yes.” I say simply, because it’s the truth.

At my words Clara bursts into tears again, and buries her face in her hands.

I feel strong hands grip my shoulders and lift me to my feet. I know the hands belong to Conrad but I don’t pull away, because I like the feel of them there. Conrad pushes me into the girl’s locker room and follows me inside.

“How could you say that to her?!” he yells and stalks towards me.

I look at him. “Because it is the truth.” I say.

“But is she ugly?” Conrad asks angrily.

I shake my head. “No, she is quite attractive.” I tell him.

“Then why didn’t you tell her that?” Conrad asks and shakes me gently.

“Because that is not what she asked me.”

Conrad roars and turns away from me and smacks his fist into the nearest locker. “This is why I hate you people, you are all so insensitive.” He says more to himself than to me.

I answer anyway, shocked by his accusation. “I’m not insensitive,” I deny. “I went to help her.”

Conrad just looks at me like I am dense. “But you didn’t help her, you didn’t even think about her feelings, or what she was thinking. You only pretend to care.” He yells at me.

“I help people, we help people,” I say, and make a gesture indicting all angels.

Conrad growls and punches a locker again. “No you don’t, you kill people.” He roars, I can see the pain in his dark eyes and I don’t understand why it is there, he is the bad guy, they don’t feel pain.

“Only the people who deserve it.” I tell him in defence of my race.

Conrad shakes his head in disbelief. “You kill anybody, you don’t care who deserves it.”

I see the pain in his eyes get worse and I wish to make it better. I reach up and try to touch his face which is mere inches from my own, but he smacks my hand away and storms from the room.

Rejection flows through me and I have never felt anything that compares to it. I rub the slight sting in my arm, but that pain doesn’t compare to the pain in my heart. I feel my eyes tingle and I reach up and feel the tears gathering in my eyelashes and an unbelievable sob racks through my body. The pain inside me is indescribable; it makes every inch of my body hurt physically and I bend over in anguish as I cry out. I don’t know what to do or how to make it stop, I want it to stop. I lie down on the cold concrete floor and let the misery shake my body and my tortured cries roll through the empty hall.

I do not know how long I am lying there, but suddenly the door opens and someone sits down next to me and pulls my head into their lap. Rough hands begin to stroke my hair and trace the planes of my face. I open my eyes and I see the very last person I expect to.

“What do you know?” Conrad asks softly. “Looks like there’s some human in there after all.”

 Hey, thanks for reading. I would really appreciate some criticism, because I want to make this story better. So please, if there is anything at all that you like or dislike, don’t hesitate to tell me. Anything constructive would be greatly appreciated.