To Keep You

Lost Within The Field

Stella's P.O.V.

As if cold water had been poured upon my body, I awoke with a gasp and even a scream of fright as I found myself sitting in the bleachers only feet away from a high school baseball field. I wanted to faint or perhaps threaten someone to tell me where I was. For the last thing my mind remembered was being in a room with two men wielding guns at Seth and myself. Everything after that becomes nothing but a bluer, and I cannot fathom how I went from the junky cabin to a mysterious high school. 

I mean, seriously, a cabin mansion? What are you, a rich redneck who is a virgin when it comes to interior design? Where's the class? Elegance? And spice?

My eyes descended my body, and I was shocked to find myself dressed in a hideous purple and yellow cheerleading uniform. The top was sleeveless, while in an ugly shade of dark purple, and cropped, it came to a stop underneath my boobs and provided a great show of my lower abdominal for anyone who dared to allow their eyes to dance upon my exposed body. The crystal stud in which was pierced through my bellybutton, shined in the early evening sun and nearly blinded even myself. But the skirt was far more eye-catching than the crystal stud was, however, for all the wrong reasons.

It was short, barely evening covering the tops of my thighs. Unlike the top, the skirt was in a stripped pattern and was a mix of the dark purple and a mellow yellow shade. It was hideous, to say the least, and that was the kindest word I could use to describe it.

My hair was no different and had not escaped the hideous style I was currently stuck in. It was thrown up in a high-pony tail that was slicked back and a bow with the matching shades as the uniform was placed upon the top of the ponytail. I wanted to die for not only being a cheerleader is an insult by itself, but forcing me to wear this ugly uniform is a crime of it's own. I frowned for I know in my right mind I would never be caught dead in this dreadful piece of clothing.

Where's Gucci and Versace when you need them?

The crowd around me forced my attention off this monstrosity of a uniform as they cheered loudly as one of the players hit a homerun. I rolled my eyes, for is this really how American's choose to fill their time? Where's the class? Or even some elegance? I mean, who in their right mind wants to spend an entire day and paycheck watching men run around a field while catching a ball? I could go to a dog park and watch the very same sport for free.

As my eyes glanced around the bleachers, I took in the many people that sat around me. Most of them were overly excited fathers who were either pacing back and forth as if their lives depended on the game. While others shouted insults at the couches. There was a huddle of moms in one of the corners of the bleachers. They were passing around snacks while gossiping about God knows what. Their eyes couldn't even spare a glance towards the field where their kids were playing. This event was obviously more for them, as they used the time to have their weekly gossip meeting.

God help whoever the topic of this week's meeting is about.

Children of all ages ran around giggling and laughing as if there wasn't a care in the world. Deep within me, I truly felt bad for them. They have not the faintest idea of just how dark our world truly is. People don't even blink an eye nor shed a tear when murder happens, and blood shade might as well be the newest trendy thing for not a day goes by that a human isn't killed by the hands of another.

If I were to ever have children, I would be honest with them, tell them the truth, and prepare them for this demon infested world. Thankfully, I decided long ago that children will never be in my future. My womb is permanently closed before it was ever opened. No, my life is already planned out. Create my own empire, dominate the world, and kill the souls of men while I do so. This bullet-proof plan has no room for snotty nosed kids. I mean, why would I want to have kids? Firstly, they ruin your body, and secondly, I'm not going to be chasing a kid to God knows where making sure they aren't getting into trouble. And if I'm any example, then trust me, you don't want me bringing the next generation of Brandit's into the world.

I lost my virginity before I was even nine years old and so trust me, I don't have what it takes to be a good mother...

"Abner Doubleday invented baseball in 1839, but of course, that's just a theory. Some historians suspect the game was actually invented in ancient Europe but was named something entirely different, and therefore, they can't be one-hundred percent certain." 

Startled by a man's sudden voice, I gasped, and my eyes darted to the left of me and to my surprise a boy barely even fifteen sat beside me while his glaze was fixed souly on the field.

"What?" I asked in a daze of confusion for what was he even talking about? And who was he? But most importantly, why is he invading my personal space!?

The boy wore a blue-jean baseball cap, a long sleeve white shirt, that off set his dark skin. A pair of old blue-jeans shielded his legs from sight, and to match them, a pair of work boots clung to his feet, for they had seen better years.

His body position was somehow both tense and relaxed at the same time. For his upper body was leaned forward, and his arms rested upon his legs. His jaw was tense as well as his hands as they were clasped together while resting upon his knees.

The boy's lips began to move, but he seemed rather pleased to ignore my question, "It's her favorite sport, you know. You should've seen her at recess." The man smiled as if he was remembering a fait memory that didn't feel so faint to him, "She would challenge all the boys to a throwing contest while the other girls would just stand off, huddled in a corner glaring. They always hated her, but I didn't blame them. She was as beautiful as a falling star." Shaking his head, his glaze continued to stare longingly out at the players on the field, but it felt as if he wasn't really seeing them, but rather through them.

"None of the boys ever beat her, though. They were never good enough to match her throwing arm. She could throw a nickel and knock a can off a shelf. I always hated myself that I was never strong enough to complete against her. Of course, I wouldn't want to beat her, but rather show her I wasn't some weak ducking that was in need of her rescuing."

Finally, the strange man tore his eyes from the field and allowed their full force to fall upon my own. His eyes overflowed with sadness while his lips were set in a form yet pouty frown.

"Who are you?" I whispered as the air within my lungs seemed to have been robbed from within me. There was something off about this boy, for his eyes seemed to see through me, yet they told a story, one that involved me.

He took many moments to speak as his eyes danced along the lines of my face as if they were streaks of an expensive painting.

"Arnold Liverpool."