Behind these walls

Protection

I fall to my knees on the dusty floor of the Old Church, with my head in my hands. No, it can't be possible. My mother, back from the dead? Did she even die? Yes, yes she did. Her body, with glassy eyes staring at the ceiling with grey, limp skin haunts the back of my mind. The memory leaves and is replaced with what I saw just moments before, my own mother pulling back the black hood to reveal her face. If it was her, why? Why would she kill the one person who has never abandoned me, who was my best friend? In the back of my head, I can hear Ryland calling my name. No, not calling, more like screaming with desperation. I snap out of my thoughts, and look up at him. His chocolate eyes tell a different story, a story of sympathy. Of a battle he fights to keep me safe, but he believes he has failed.

He believes he has failed in my protection.

But he hasn't, this isn't his fault.

With both of us there, kneeling in layers of dust, staring hungrily into each other's eyes, I suddenly grab him by his shirt, my hands clenched around the soft fabric and bring him forward to wrap my arms around his neck. He takes me by the waist and we sit there, entangled in the other's arms for what seems like hours. Night turns into day, light and darkness mixing in a swirl of colour and Ryland checks the time on his phone.

"We should probably leave. We are trespassing, after all." Ryland whispers in my hair, his breathe softly caressing my neck.

I stifle a laugh and wipe my eyes. He pulls away from me, takes my hand and pulls us both up.

"Come on, we should get you to school soon."

"I don't want to go to school." My voice comes out croaky after the crying from last night.

"I know, but don't worry. I'll be there, too." He takes my hand and grabs the camera still laying on the floor from where he dropped it and walks me out the door, into the blazing, fiery sunlight.

I had almost forgotten how much I hated school after not being here for about a week. Unfortunately, I remember as soon as I see all the people milling about, socializing in big groups. Ryland and I walk in the soft green grass together. He wears a black hoodie with a white shirt underneath, tight on his hard body. His dark blue jeans crinkle at the knees when he walks. The school bell rings, and together we walk into Mr. Cole's history class.

"Miss Hayes, Mr. Slater, nice to finally see you two." Mr. Cole's stern voice tells us as we make our way to the back of the room to find our seats. I take a seat, setting my books on the table and begin getting out my Twentieth Century History textbook. I flip through multiple pages until I see the page number written on the board; 49. The rest of the class blurs through my murky memory, trying to remember everything I had already forgotten from only a week ago. Mr. Cole addresses the class with a tired look on his slowly aging face. His eyes sag down but a light still shines in his pupils and his

"So, it's team assignment time. Pick a partner and any event from page 49 in your textbook and I want a minimum 50 slide very detailed power point presentation on it. You have the entire semester to complete this project. All of the information learnt last semester should be incorporated into the assignment. Any questions? Good. Get started."

A finger pokes me on the shoulder and I turn to the source. Ryland sits there, slouched comfortably in his chair.

"Want to work together?" He asks.

"Sure."

He moves his table closer to mine and sits so close to me I can feel the heat radiating off of his body, and his elbow grazes mine. Electric pulses shiver throughout my entire body at the touch and I shiver, swallowing the heat placed on my cheeks down. We choose a topic together, on the subject of the Holocaust. A triangle piece of paper flutters down onto my desk and before I can grab it, Ryland sees it and unfolds it. My heart lurches in my chest, the beating making my blood boil. His face slowly goes white, his eyes going back and forth, rereading whatever line was there to piss me off. He crumples it in a tight fist and drops it onto the table. I hurriedly unscramble it and look at it, and see written;

How much do you give out for? A dollar? Whore.

Ryland stands up, going over to the smirking Kylen Rivera, standing in front of his desk, Ryland says "Hey, Rivera."

Kylen looks up at him, the smirk so evident along with the gleam in his eyes. "What?"

"Oh, I was just wondering what would happen if I slammed my fist into your face." Kylen's face becomes a mix of terror and confusion, just before Ryland raises his fist and brings it down with amazing speed. His knuckles pummel into Kylen's face, the force sending his chair to scrape back and fall backwards with Kylen still in it. My heart was beating louder and louder, as a gasp escapes from my lungs. Kylen staggers back to his feet and raises his own fist, but another sturdy hand blocks it. Mr. Cole. Ryland looks back at me and winks before Mr. Cole tells him to go to the principal's office. He grabs his books and walks away, out the door. For some reason, I get the urge to pull out my phone which I turned off when I arrived at Ryland's just days before, when I had the incident with my father. The phone screen buzzes alive, the light casting a flicker over my features. I go into the inbox and find 4 text messages waiting for me. 3 from my father and 1 from Ryland sent seconds ago. I scroll past my father's name and click on the message from Ryland.

Hey, you okay?

I reply swiftly;

Am I okay? I think it would be better to ask if you are.

His reply comes back lightning fast.

I'll see you later?

Yeah, of course.

Opening my locker after the bell, I put my books away. Ryland stands casually leaning his shoulder on the door of the painted wood locker. His backpack is slung lazily over his other shoulder as he looks down at me.

"Are you in much trouble?" I ask him. He shrugs, the white light from the hallway catching his hair and dancing swirls of light plays on it.

"Detention after school and a warning. But," he says before I can open my mouth to protest, "It was worth it."

The next day, seated in Twentieth Century History, Ryland and I work vigorously on the project. In front of us, Kylen glares viciously at Ryland. Mr. Cole's marker scrolls smoothly across the whiteboard as he writes notes about what to include in the project. My own pen scrapes across the slightly dishevelled paper in a hurry. By the time the bell rings, I realise that for the first time, no triangle shaped paper has landed on my desk.