Perfect Maniac

Rejection

Iris' P.O.V

I have blonde frosty hair and a taste for drawing, music, and watching. I like to watch people. How they moved. How they smiled. There was just something about me that seemed so plain.

My mother passed away when I was three. That was a fact. No hope that she remains alive. I knew she is and was gone. She will never be forgotten. I know that.

My dad was abusive. He would hurt my mother. My mother wanted to commit suicide. Though, she changed her mind. It had already been too late. I watched her scream, pupils filling up most of her Iris. That's why I hated my name.

One thing that always left me shivering was the thought of hurting someone like my dad had. I couldn't hurt an animal, they were too innocent, stupid even. Although, a human, someone who is capable of it themself, that's what I would experiment with in my head.

I may have been five at the time my mother passed, but you just don't forget something like that. I remembered my own screams. Worst of all, I remember my dad's. It was the worst at the moment. My mother's state had seemed so foreign. My father's, was all too familiar.

He screamed, and made her take that invitation to hell. Scratch that. She already lived there. Why did she want to stay? I have no idea. I think her life was hell in an unselfish way. I would have loved for her to stay. In fact I needed her to stay. But it was her decision. Not mine. Besides, I was only five.

I still remember her face. I have no pictures left of her though. One night I couldn't take it. I couldn't help but to think. If she won't be forgotten, then why do I need reminded? That night I burnt all her photos. It was a new beginning because that night was when I first moved in with my aunt.

I currently live with her. She is a sweet person. Though, I still see pain in her eyes. She reminds me of my mother. She was that last reminder. I didn't need a reminder, though I found her presence comforting.

My blue orbs darted back and forth between a page of the book I found. As of the moment I remain in art class. A place I crowd with all my messed up drawings, crumbled papers, and irrelevant ideas.

My aunt picks me up always an hour later then she should. It's not that she doesn't care. It's that she is emotionally and physically drained. She seems slower then I remember. Her eyes tell a story of a lost being. I miss when she was all here.

My head spins. Not able to keep balance, the brush moves too far. "Not again!" I grit my teeth. Taking the paper I crumble it up and toss it across the room. I promise to clean up after my self, though it always ends up being Ms Ace who does it. I feel bad, but how do I protest when she argues back? She does this every afternoon. She just insists.

Now, there is this one boy in my art class that visits every once in a while when it's the afternoon. He visits the paint brushes and canvases. He made eye contact with me on purpose once. He just needed to borrow a color. When I look at him my heart races and it almost helps me to feel normal. Normal girls have stupid crushes on boys they don't know and they don't have trauma.

He's quiet. Someone I find intriguing. I am a people watcher, so of course I watch him. He has a talent for art and getting out of talking in class. He was definitely mysterious.

Now, this boy in my class. He is different. At least to me. He has red hair. A color I find difficult to find. I've tried to draw him before. Color him in. Of course, it wasn't what I wanted. That resulted in throwing it to the rubbish. Ms Ace told me that instead of throwing my drawings away I should give them to someone. She said it would make them happy. I guess I'm too scared of rejection. My aunt said my father played a part of that.

The world wasn't perfect. Beautiful in many ways, yet still not perfect. So many broken hearted, broken flesh out there. It made my heart hurt. I wanted to hug so many people. I just, was afraid of rejection. Not only that, but I was afraid I'd end up hurting them.