The Wise Child (BNHA x OC)

3. Burn

(Trigger Warning!! Abuse!!)

The same five streets were the only contact with the outside world I had. The only time I saw people without staring through glass or over a fance. The ony time I saw buildings that weren't houses. The only time that another person didn't cause me to feel that odd sort of ugly thing that looking at my family did. And it was the happiest moments of my life.

Even as I had to sprint my way through it, hoping not to get a second less than the previous attempt. Still, there was always a little glint in the back of my mind that wished that somehow, someway, these moments would lead to something new in my life. And while I knew it was silly, I always wore my favorite clothes, and tidied my hair to be extra perfect.

As I ran I stared right ahead, eyes narrowed, wind blowing in my face, a certain calm in it.

“Excuse me,” a quiet voice barely more than a whisper called. “I was hoping you might help me move these boxes?”

I couldn't recognize who said it, though that didn't matter because I was she wasn't speaking to me. No one ever addressed me aside from my father. So I continued running, unperturbed, feeling the concrete pound against my legs, my exhausted body slowly losing its former speed.

I hesitantly stopped for a breath, thinking about how every second I wasted would mean an extra ten minutes of training. I was quick to continue on, until I noticed an elderly woman with a gray afro and soft features staring at me. 

“Would you help me with these?” she asked once again, her eyes warm, but also distant. Like looking at the night sky. 

I shifted my eyes from her to where she sat next to a large collection of boxes. They were in front of a house that I recognized to be on sale for a month now. Four spaces away from my own. I wondered how many people she might have asked, and why no one bothered to help. It seemed like she had been sitting for a long while. I began to feel unsure of what to do. 

My father was timing me, and would surely be angered by my delay.

But this woman needed help.

“I-I can help,” I muttered unsuredly.

She smiled shyly, “Thank you so much. You have such a pretty face, I’m surprised you’d be so willing to spend your time with an old woman like me.”

“It’s no trouble,” a lie. 

I walked over towards her and picked up one of the boxes, “Where would you like me to put them?”

“Just by the door, if you don’t mind. It should be open. I truly appreciate your help. I can pay you, if you’d like,” she said, reaching towards her purse, a nice pretty purple bag. Though it wasn’t an expensive one that would be found at a boutique, but rather a tote with the name of a volunteer organization.

I instantly shook my head, “No, it’s fine. I enjoy the work.”

“I would feel bad otherwise,” she answered with a soft smile. 

“I don’t have much use for money.”

“Are you sure? I would have thought you would like to go out with your friends.”

“I don’t leave my house often.”

"Ah, I'm sorry about that,” she hummed. “But if you truly don’t want money let me at least make you some tea- though my kettle is in one of these boxes.” she rubbed the back of her head before sighing, “What about a lemon square? I have some out on the counter.”