Samantha's POV
"Stop!" Dylan said, looking at me. I could sense I had hit a nerve. "Stop, ok? Just stop. You don't know me. Nor do you know anything about me. So stop acting like you care!"
I sit there, dumbfounded. I didn't know what to say. So I just watched her storm off.
Sighing, I stand up, and head over to Glenda's room.
"Knock knock," I said, walking towards her desk.
"Hey," she said, walking towards me, hoop earrings dangling. "How's your second day going for you?"
"Oh, its going pretty well. Except for the fact that one of my students came in with a black eye." I said, leaning on a desk.
"Oh is that right? Well, teenagers will be teenagers."
"I don't know about that Glenda, I asked her to stay after class to talk about it, and as soon as I started asking her questions about it, she got defensive and stormed out." I said honestly.
"Well, sometimes teenagers feel as if they can't talk to anyone. Let alone the teachers. Because they can't seem to fathom the idea that us teachers were once teenagers, and may k ow what they're going through." She explained, ruffling through a few papers laying on her desk.
"Yeah, I know. She reminds me an awful lot of Me when I was that age." I said truthfully. "All I want to do is help her."
"Well, give it some time dear, I'm sure she'll come around if she needs it."
"I guess you're right, anyways, how are your classes going for you?"
"Ah well, you know, got stuck teaching nothing but freshman this year, which is stressful, but I'll manage." Laughing, she set the papers down, and looked up at me. "You know, I'm impressed." She said, smiling.
"Oh?"
"Yeah," standing, she sat down on the desk next to me. "Its barely been your first week, and you already care more about your students than half of the teachers here, and that has me impressed."
"Well, thanks," I said, hugging her. "I need to get back to my room, you know, my students may go crazy if they find there is no teacher there."
"Ha, yeah, I know what thats like," she said, waving as I walk out of the room.
As I watch over my last period of the day, my mind wondered back to Dylan.
I don't know why, but I feel intrigued by her. There's just something about her. Her eyes were just screaming something along the lines of 'help me!' But she just seems so scared to let anyone in. To let anyone help her.
It saddens me, to see someone as smart, talented, and as beautiful as her, be in that much pain.
All I want to do is help her. I just don't know how.
As I finished grading the papers from today, I headed out to my car.
Pulling out, I see someone walking down the sidewalk. As I get closer I see that it's Dylan. She was limping slightly, and I could see she had a busted lip.
Pulling over I hopped out of my car, and walked over to her.
Dylan's POV:
walking home from the gym, I see my dads car parked out front. As well as a black camri. I recognized it immediately Mathew's. He was a fellow drunk that always hung out with my father.
Walking in the door, I heard booming laughter coming from the living room.
"Dylan?!? Is that you?" I heard my father yell.
"Yeah," I muttered, walking to the living room.
"Well well well," Matthew said, standing beside my father.
"See? Didn't I tell you she was a dyke?" He said, laughing in my face as he pushed me to the floor.
"Well well, maybe this will change your nasty life style," Matthew said, sending a kick to my ribs. I groaned in pain as he kept kicking and I heard a loud crack. Sending a powerful wave of pain through my body.
My father loomed over me and begin punching my face.
They continued this for another half hour until they both got winded and went back to the living room to watch their football game.
I went to my room, and threw what little clothes I had left into my bag, and headed out the door.
I had no idea where I was headed, or where I going to go, but I knew I couldn't stay there anymore.
As I hobbled down the street, a car pulled up beside me. Looking over I saw Ms.Foster hop gracefully out of the car, and walked over to me.
"Dear lord Dylan, are you alright?" She asked, guiding me towards her car. I leaned on it for support. I was starting to feel a bit dizzy. I guess that what happens when two grown men beat you.
"Dylan?" She asked, grabbing my face, wincing I pulled away slightly. "Ok, get in." She said, opening the door. I slid in, and leaned my head on the window.
"Ok, Dylan I'm gonna need you to keep your eyes open, ok sweetie? You may have an concussion or something." I heard Ms.Foster say.
I didn't get the chance to answer because I soon found myself drifting into blackness.
Samantha's POV
'Shit' I mumble as I look over to Dylan. Her eyes were closed and her head was dangling slightly. "Come on sweetie," I said, reaching over shaking her slightly.
She stirred and shook away from my touch. "I'm up I'm up woman, Jesus!" She said, sitting up.
We pulled up to my house. As I got out of the car, Dylan was stumbling out. I walked over to her, and carried her bridal style into my home.
"I'm fine, put me down, I'm fine! I can walk." She said, struggling, trying to get out of my grasp.
"Stop it!" I said firmly, tightening my grip slightly, "Just let me take care of you!"
"I don't need you!" She sobbed, "I don't need anyone!" She burrowed her head into my chest and continued sobbing.
"Its ok, alright? I'm here, its going to be ok." I soothed, bringing her to my bed. "Its ok, alright, just get some sleep ok?" I went to leave the room, but her hand gripped tightly at my shirt.
"Please don't leave me," she said. She looked so broken, so fragile. But she still seems to have this strong front about her.
I laid beside her and draped my arm lightly across her. She snuggled back into my chest, and was soon asleep.
