No One Hears You

Chapter 3

From the sixth row perspective of the dimly lit lecture room, Denise's glossy bob serves as a satisfying distraction from Professor Tompkins's mundane monologue. Each time she tilts her head or looks toward her notes she reflects the warm glow of the lights above. Her shampoo must contain minerals and oils that produce her illustrious shine.

        It probably smells good, too.

The thought is shaken off with a low clearing of the throat and attention is redirected to the man who holds the most power in the room.

"Page three of the syllabus contains the structure for week three, which is imperative for getting acclimated to the pace of this course. We are now entering our more advanced..."

Who can listen to that when there's a goddess with chocolate tresses streaming through her fingers, exposing the nape of her neck for a breath of a moment? The glint of a gold chain announces its existence before disappearing under a blanket of majesty.

The urge to jump over the rows ahead and graze the base of her neck to her ear in a trail of passion is stifled by the chilling reality that she is, and always will be, unattainable.

It seems like the best girls always are. What with their beautiful locks, shapely bodies and effortless laughs. No one can ever touch them or approach their iridescent bubble of pure perfection. Their scent alone is enough to draw a senseless man into a well.

Neatly tucking her hair behind her ear, Denise tenses as an eerie sensation washes over her. Familiar yet unsettling, its potency seems to grow the more she remains still. Slowly bringing her hand to her desk, she glances over her shoulder at the slightest angle, hoping to catch whoever is staring at her. She may be imagining things, but this is the third time she has felt this exact electrifying discomfort... it's always in this class.

Disturbed by the possibility that she is being anonymously surveilled, her head whips across her opposite shoulder in an attempt to find the source of her unease. A chill sings down her spine to the tune of unequivocal fear. The hairs on her arms and neck stand firm at attention in contrast to her trembling nerves.

No, darling. It's me.

The clanking of metal and pulsing music nearly persuade Devon to return to his apartment. Some of the bodies he passes are strong and well-built while others are weak and scrawny. He empathizes with those who can barely manage the weight they overzealously committed to, concerned for the veins that angrily bulge through their skulls. He remembers having a similar primitive appetite when he first began weightlifting, which seems like ages ago.

Unwinding the jump rope he borrowed from the equipment room, he eases into a steady rhythm and blocks out the mental images that creep into the corners of his mind. Escaping his past is a constant battle that no one is privy to, yet has become a critical part of who he is. He longs for the days when the only things that had him concerned were his dedication to football and his relationship with Ava. His mom never enjoyed the thought of him engaging in a sport with such brutal contact, thus putting an end to his fantasized football career.

His love for Ava was the most precious thing he had. She always knew how to get him out of a funk with one of her "magic plans." It didn't take much to lift him up— her laughter alone was enough to illuminate his spirit and recover his mind. He opened up to her about everything and never held back his emotions nor details.

As if she's there, a pleasant memory rolls its way onto the projector of Devon's mind.

"I know you're going to feel better after this, just watch," Ava beamed.

Devon rolled his eyes and crossed his fingers. "I believe you. Your magic tricks never fail."

"Okay," Ava smiled as she daintily smoothed his eyelids down with her hand. "Close your eyes."

He relaxed his lids and silently hoped he could stay in this moment forever.

He felt her spread his palm open in a gentle sweeping motion, lingering at his fingertips. After a moment, she wrapped his hand around the small deposit she had made.

A smile made its way to his lips as he already knew what she placed in his hand. He etched his eyebrows in mock confusion in an effort to play along.

"What could this be?" He wondered aloud.

"It's something that has a special place in your heart."

A heat of blush rose to Devon's cheeks as he knew she was studying his features.

"Is it yours?" He asked softly.

She ran her fingers through his hair. "Try again."

"Is it alive?" He questioned intently.

"Yes," she responded. He could hear the pout in her voice. "For now."

Devon considered what his next question should be, but Ava interrupted his thoughts.

"You know already, don't you?"

Unable to keep his eyes shut for a moment longer, he took in her beauty as fresh as morning air. The slight part in the middle of her bottom lip begged to be bitten and slowly dragged. He lifted his eyes from her lips to her orbs of brilliance, swimming in their crystal blue substance.

"No flower is as precious as you, Aves," He cupped her ear and slid his fingers through her cascade of caramel waves.

She grabbed his wrist and gazed at him dreamily. She knew he would know, but she'd hoped it would cheer him up anyway. Glancing at his other hand, she noticed it was still closed.

"Open it, please," she said politely.

He turned over his wrist and revealed a small, pink flower with a short stem supporting its petals. He lifted the corner of his mouth in a half-smile and returned his view to Ava's gorgeous face.

"I know it won't live much longer," she began, "but I thought it'd be worth keeping even a little while."

He tightened his grip around the flower, making sure not to squeeze it. "I understand," he replied in a tone of mixed emotions.

He wanted to treasure the gift she had thoughtfully plucked just for him, but he was sad to know that the ground had lost one of its cherished beauties.

        He decided to place the cherished gift in the calm expression of grace that flows from her crown. He planted a kiss on her forehead and looked her in the eye.

"You're my flower, Ava."

The sting of heartache is enough to break the rhythm of plastic slapping the ground. Wiping the sweat from his forehead with an abrupt movement, Devon decides to take a jog outside. He grabs his keys and leaves the jump rope underneath the sign to the restroom. If he doesn't get out now, he'll have a meltdown in front of these strangers who could never fathom the pain he experiences on a daily basis. He steps outside to numb the internal suffering that eats at his insides.

'Why didn't you tell her you loved her?' He venomously blames himself. 'Why couldn't you tell her you loved her from the very beginning?'

He looks at his watch and realizes the time. "I'd better go before she misses me," he sadly announces to the sky.