Dawnbreakers

Ghost of a Touch

I sat in the hard, uncomfortable chair. My hands wringing nervously and sliding against each other with the sweat. Only thirty-two more seconds until the bell rang. Heller wasn't here yet.

The bell rang. I sighed, relaxing into the chair. Dylan was already asleep, as usual. Mrs. Bennet walked into class, holding onto her coffee mug to her chest. Her glasses sat low on her nose as she looked down, reading off attendance.

I reached into my bag, bringing out my pink and white polka-dotted pencil case, my spiral notebook with a pale blue floral design, and the appropriate textbook.

"Page 376, please," Mrs. Bennet instructed us.

The door suddenly swung open, hitting the wall. Everyone jumped and directed their attention to the distraction greedily. In strolled Heller, his black hoodie covering his face more than usual and his hands buried in his jean pockets. He walked to the desk behind me, sat down, and lied his head down, taking a nap.

Mrs. Bennet seemed upset that he so blatantly disrespected her authority, but since he wasn't making a big deal, she overlooked it. She continued lecturing about the brain's anatomy and how everything connected and what each neurotransmitter did. Already knowing this, I turned my attention to something of more interest.

"Hey," I whispered. I had turned around, facing the dark figure behind me. He didn't respond. "Hey." He seemed lifeless to the world. "I am not going to poke you again," I whispered, determined.

He chuckled quietly. "Smart girl."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Why even show up to class if you're not going to listen?"

His body shifted, seeming somewhat stiff, until an icy blue eye stared at me. "Shouldn't I ask you the same question, Babygirl?"

My mouth opened, waiting for an answer, to only close in defeat. He laughed softly, returning to his previous position.

I glared at the back of his head. "Hey, I'm not done talking to you."

"I'm listening."

"I have to ask you something." He didn't reply, just listened. "I... uh... well, why did you... um..." I started nervously, not knowing how to confront him. I told myself he showed up, I would, but now that he's here, I'm wanting to shoot a rubber band at my past self. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and whispered quickly, "why did you tackle me?"

Peeking one eye open, I saw his leisurely position had become tense. "You poked me, Babygirl." His voice was still playful, but held a dangerous don't-talk-about-it vibe.

Too bad I'm a rebel.

"That's not a real answer."

He looked up at me, glaring. I gasped at seeing his face so quickly, and especially, the bruises all over it.

The noise attracted attention from Mrs. Bennet, earning her breath to be used on me. "Wisconsin, turn around." I quickly turned around, sitting in my chair straight. I felt the desk behind me shift and knew he had put his head back down. Mrs. Bennet, scanning the classroom for more slackers, needn't go farther than Dylan's desk. "Dylan, wake up!"

Dylan groaned, moving into another sleeping position. "It's not my fault I need to be admitted to the hospital for food coma," he muttered.

I rolled my eyes and the teacher shook her head, but class continued. Every time I would turn ever so slightly to discuss with Heller about his bruises, Mrs. Bennet would practically burn me with her glare. I gulped and looked down, deciding to wait until later.

---

The bell rang, and I was still feeling the jittery effects of waiting for that sound. I sprung up, gathered my stuff, and waited for Heller to talk to me. Instead, he got up and walked out of class. I ran after him, following him to the library. He went to that table and lied down.

I rushed to him, standing angrily by his side. All of a sudden, his arm shot out and hooked around my hips, encircling me. He pulled me to him. It wasn't an embrace per say, he just held me as he lied there quietly. I stood snugly to his side, shocked.

Recovering from the suddenness, I cleared my throat. "Um, so... can we talk?" He didn't respond. "About your bruises." His grip tightened. "Did you get in a fight or something?" My voice was so soft.

He sighed, sitting up and facing me, though he slouched and rested his elbows on his knees, looking down. That hoodie still covered his face, so I slowly and gently pulled it down. He didn't resist, thank goodness. When it was off, he slowly looked up at me with neutral eyes, trying to gauge my reaction.

My body tensed, but I did not move or make a sound. The bruises were heavy and large, covering the majority of his face. I eyed them, looking so full of pain I could cry for him. My hand lifted slowly, and hovered before his face. I glanced to his gaze, and they were still neutral. I gulped, grazing my fingertips over the delicate, aching skin. My touch was gentle, barely there, like a ghost.

My fingers slid softly against his temple, around his eye, then down to the darkest bruise. As I swept my barely there, feeling against that bruise on his jaw, his eyes fluttered close. He rewrapped his arm around my waist, this time loose. I don't know why, but I didn't think much of it. I didn't feel uncomfortable by his touch, I felt soothed. I didn't feel trapped to be this close with him, I felt comforted. I didn't feel blank looking at him. I wanted to care for him. I shook the feeling off, lifting my fingers from his skin. His eyes opened immediately, and I thought, for a moment, that that deep emotion in his eyes was longing, but it soon flickered away. We stared at each other for awhile, his arms encircling me loosely, resting on my hips.

"Wisc, what the hell?! You can't just leave-" Dylan said, announcing his presence in the library. His eyes glanced to Heller and I's positions, and stayed glued there.

I looked back to the mismatched eyes. They held such a strong emotion that I couldn't decipher. After a few seconds that felt like minutes, he removed his touch from me, tugged his hoodie up, folded his arms on the table, and rested his head on them.