Words

Nine

I sat on the floor, unmoving as the sound of ripping paper echoed in my head. I didn't want to believe that it was gone. Kyle's last words repeated like a broken record.

'You were never normal.'

With my fists still shaking in rage, I shut my eyes to try and stop anymore tears from falling. Was that true? What did it even mean to be normal in the first place? Was everything I did a waste of time? Would me eating words make any difference in my life? Even though I had been trying so hard to be normal and accept my fate, it obviously wasn't working. He saw right through me and tore my ephemeral happiness apart, literally. What Kyle did left me hurt, confused and bitter at the same time.

My breath was shaky when I sighed. Using the chair for support, I stood with a staggering balance. The pieces of scattered paper that surrounded my feet were crumpled and dirty. Could they be put back together somehow? Even if they were, it wouldn't make a difference. It would still be worthless in his eyes. What made him so angry? Had I done something wrong? I didn't understand.

I wanted to take care of that drawing. Even if he didn't like it, I did. Now I had to redraw it all in one day. The uneven pieces of paper that fluttered to the wooden floor bothered me. All of the times I pressed my fingers and pencil onto the paper to add shading, the white charcoal that represented the glint of light that reflected in his eyes, the broadness of his shoulders―it was all gone. What would Mister Abington say? Would I fail Art class now as well?

In any case, I needed to clean up the mess we made. The janitor already had enough on his plate with the cafeteria. I patted my cheeks to wake up from my daze and gathered the remains of my drawing into a neat pile with my hands. The grains of dirt and dust clung to my palms as I brought my hands together to pick up the pieces of shredded paper. I had no choice but to tell him what happened. Still, why hadn't my art ripped from the paper like my words did?

Before my thoughts could wander any further, my stomach rumbled. It then dawned on me that I hadn't eaten anything since that morning. I looked around, wondering if anyone was nearby before I devoured my lunch, chocolate cosmos. Not a single person in sight. Relief flooded through my veins when I sighed. However, I couldn't let my guard down. I had to endure it until I found a secluded area.

While carefully concealing the papers with my hand so as to not drop any, I walked to the recycling bin. Did I have any other choice? Sneaking a glance at the vacant blue chairs that were behind me, I sighed. I didn't want to let it go―was there nothing else I could do? Just then, I was hit with a spark of inspiration.

Improvision was my panacea! If Kyle thought it was trash then I just had to make it better in my own way. After all, Mister Abington never said that it had to be realism. Kyle may had thought of it as trash, but that was alright. Maybe he wasn't confident in his looks? I wasn't sure, but I couldn't just give up. I was going to finish before the deadline.

Turning away from the bin, I headed back to my seat and tore out a blank sheet of paper after placing the pile on top of my closed notebook. Just when I was about to write him a note, I remembered that my words wouldn't stay on paper. Was there anything else I could do? I looked around dejectedly for any way of conveying my thoughts to him. Alas, there were none. Oh well.

The papers were slid into my bag after I had put the rest of my belongings away. Tugging the strap over my head, I put the chairs by the door and picked up Kyle's sketchbook. Really, was the drawing really that bad?

Curiosity once again dragged my thoughts to his picture despite his cruel actions earlier. He already saw, and destroyed, my work, so why not take a peek at his? Of course I wasn't forgiving him, but that didn't mean that I would treat his art with the same disrespect mine was given. My fingers brushed against the blue cover that was labelled with his full name, Kyle Buckingham. Before I could lift the corner up, I was interrupted by the shrill sound of the school bell, signalling that it was time for lunch.