Love, Aubrey

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Aubrey's P.O.V

I started my letter with a simple dear. I had no clue who to write the letter to. My therapist had said many things during our last session like, make new friends, keep your grades up, but the one that stuck with me was write a letter to someone about your year.

Thankfully, I was done with my sessions now and didn't have to go to the therapist any more. I hated talking about my feelings. I hated talking in general.

I stared at my paper until I finally scribbled: Dear Someone. And that's how I started my letter but, it wasn't how I ended it.

I breathed then began to strum on my guitar. The upbeat song began to flow out of me. Then I sang:
"I know that I've been hurt before
But no ones ever left my quite this sore
Your words cut deeper than a knife Now I need someone to breath me back to life...."

A boy entered the room next to me. The practice rooms were supposed to be sound proof but they really weren't. I continued to strum on my guitar but stopped singing. I didn't want anyone to hear my voice.

I heard the boy begin the strum on a guitar similar to mine. I listened carefully to what the boy was playing. It was Stitches by Shawn Mendes the same song I was playing. We strummed together then he started singing:
"Got a feeling that I'm going under
But I know that I'll make it out alive if I quit calling you my lover
Move on..."

Hearing his gentle voice gave me confidence. He couldn't see me and he didn't know who I was. I decided I might as well sing too. We both began the chorus:
"You watch me bleed until I can't breathe
I'm shaking falling onto my knees
And now that I'm without your kisses I'll be needing stitches
I'm tripping over myself
I'm aching begging you to come help And now that I'm without your kisses
I'll be needing stitches".

I heard him laugh and I smiled. Then the first bell rang. I stuffed my paper into my backpack and grabbed my guitar. The boy walked out of his practice room and looked into mine through the small window in the door and waved at me. I slowly waved back.

I exited the room and watched the boy as he packed up his black backpack. Has he stuffed his papers into it I studied his features. He had dark brown hair and light hazel eyes. He stood at least three inches taller than me but must be in my same grade. He grabbed his guitar, which was also black, and turned to face me. "My name's David," he said smiling.

Unfortunately, my anxiety began to kick in and I panicked. Grabbing my guitar I ran out of the band hall.

By the time I reached my locker my breathing had become labored. I tried my best to calm down as I unlocked my locker and placed my guitar inside. All I wanted to was go home. I leaned against the wall for a moment allowing my self to catch my breath before heading to my first class.