selective mutism • ai

•3•

tap!

the sound of high heeled shoes gets closer to me as i recognize another set of footsteps along with them. the squeaking of new sneakers (probably nikes or jordans) approaches me quicker.

i'm near my locker pulling out books that i need for my homework. my head suddenly feels a rush as i realize that my that head was slammed into the hook that held my sweater.

luke.

"hey mute. see my girlfriend here," a blonde girl peeks her head out from behind my locker door and waves. she gives a half-hearted smile and looks at her obviously fake nails to see if she makes them look anymore bogus.

i nod. "well, she said that you were giving her some pretty horny looks during chemistry today." both of them chuckle.

i know the presumption isn't true. i shrug in response. i don't know what to 'say' to that. 

"listen, mute. stay the fuck away from my girlfriend. it's not worth it because you'll end up dead like your mother anyway."

i suck in my breath. luke chuckles and i hear a couple of people including his girlfriend jeer and say "oooooh" like they are a bunch of sixth graders. 

i become furious. anger builds up inside of me. my hands become fists and clench at my sides. i feel the occasional throbbing of the gigantic vein that's probably popping out of my head. i raise my fist and right when i'm about to punch luke, he grabs my wrist. his hand fits perfectly around my fist. his muscles are throbbing. 

"watch it," luke says as he throws my hand down back to the side of my body.

he smirks and then scratches his repulsive almost-beard before walking off with his girlfriend.

i watch as the crowd that as accumulated around us breaks away and luke puts up his hand signaling that he wants everyone to move. frightened, the students move and i watch as luke and his dumb bitch of a girlfriend walk down the hall and through the main exit doors of the school.

i then turn and finish packing up my books into my dilapidated bag. a feel a hand on my shoulder. it's michael.

"hey.. want to head home with me. my mom is making cookies," michael gives me a smirk because he knows that his mom's cookies are my weakness. she can make the best cookies that you have every eaten. it has the right consistency and she tops it off with this delicious cream cheese frosting that melts in your mouth. i know, this sounds like this is coming out of the "Food Network" magazine.

i nod and walk away with michael.

left. right. left. right. left. right. left. right. left. right. left. right. left.

i take my steps carefully as my feet hit the pavement. you can hear the occasional tapping sounding of the acorns. i've always loved autumn. I like to see change. I like how the green leaves on the trees turn pretty shades of orange, red, yellow, and sometimes purple.

there's a breeze. my long curls which i have neglected to cut blur my vision. i attempt to curl my lips upward and blow the strands of hair out of my face. after failing miserably, i take my hand and run my long fingers through my hair. i loosen the knots that have accumulated in my hair by tugging on the end of my messy hair. 

we approach michael's door. the ebony wood shines and smells of the new coat of lacquer that was probably applied earlier this week. i always loved the familiarity of his house. his home was my home. it was like second nature. an instinct. i belonged here.

michael opens the door to his home which i have been inside more times than i can even count. the walls are all filled with pictures of him, his mom and little brother. his dad left before michael even met me in the second grade. there are no memories of him left in michael's mind. michael can't even remember his face. in all of the pictures that line the walls of the staircase and the rest of the house, michael stands out like a sore thumb. he was always the child that was different. you can easily tell which one he was the instant your eyes glazed over the surface of each photo. his hair was always some form of dyed or what he thought was dye.