The Black Eye

Beautiful Blood

Chapter 3
Beautiful Blood

I walked home that day clutching the sides of my shirt in a hug. What will happen next? I couldn't believe how that meeting ended.

The orphanage crept closer so I ran, eager to tell my brother about today's lunch. I pushed open the door and sprinted down winding hallways. I stopped at our bedroom door and pressed my nose against it. I breathed, trying to catch my breath. My small hand gripped the cold, brass knob and turned it.

The room was dimly lit. There were bun beds on either side. The one one the right belonged to Max. I try to avoid that side of the room. To the left stood the bunk bed Ryan and I shared, tall and strong.

I look up to Ryan's bunk. A shadow rests its head against the wall. I slide my fingers up the wall and flick the light switch. Lights flare up on the ceiling.

"Mmm," said the shadow, rubbing its eyes.

"Ryan?" I asked.
"Yes?"
"Can I talk to you?"
Ryan lazily gestures to me to join him on his bed. I climb up the ladder and settle down next to him. "What's up?" Ryan says.

I told him. I told him about the girl's bathroom and he didn't laugh. I told him what George said; what he did. I told him about lunch. The only thing I changed was the beauty in the hallway. I said it was Lilly, a different girl in my class. I told him we were left off with a warning.

"A warning?" Ryan said, "That's great, man!"

"No, it's not. George got a warning, too."

"So?"

"So tomorrow he can hit and punch and beat me."

"Why do you let him?" Ryan asked.

"What?"

"Why do you let Ryan hit and punch and beat you?"

"I don't let him, I-"

"-You don't stop him." He's right. I don't. Why don't I stop him?

"What should I do?" I asked my wise brother.

"I don't know."

"What?" Disbelief. He always helps me.

"Can't say."

"Why not?"

"I've given you advice so many times," Ryan says, "What are you going to do when I'm gone? You need to be strong enough to get through this yourself. You can still talk to me, but..."

"... I have to do it by myself," I finished. I climbed off his bunk and went to get dinner.

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Last night my sleep was filled with nightmares. I tossed and turned and awoke alone for all my blankets and pillows had retreated to the floor.

I made my bed and watched Ryan aboard his school bus for high school before eating a pancake and walking to middle school.

I stare back at myself in one of the school's windows. The rectangular specks I put on today framed my not-yet-healed black eye. I could barely see the brown iris in the dark glass. I was dressed in a black T-shirt and the same khaki shorts. I stand taller, wishing and wondering what it would be like to be taller than sixty four inches. My brown hair sticks up at awkward angles for the orphanage had better things to buy than hair gel. I pulled the corners of my lips into a smile. The middle of my chapped, bottom lip tore and started to bleed. I wiped the blood away with the side of my thumb.

Something moved in the corner of my eye. I turned right to see George's fist make contact with a girl's cheek, sending her flying into the grass. Her red hair spiraled around her head like a burning sun. Oh, no, I thought, red hair. Her face was pressed against the grass, but I didn't need to see it to know who it was.

Instincts kicked in. "Natalie!" I shouted, running to her. The red faced George assembled himself in a punching stance, waiting for me. I forgot my fear and ducked, slamming into his knees and tackling him to the ground. He shrieked and moaned in what I thought was surprise until I realized I was punching him in the stomach.

I am hurting my bully. I am winning. Why doesn't this feel as good as I thought it would?

I stopped hitting him and guilty helped the enemy stand up. "Sorry," I mumbled.

Why are you apologizing? I ask myself, He hurt Natalie! I glare daggers at George. "Never hurt Natalie again," I said strongly, "Never hurt anyone again."

George nodded utterly confused and ran into the school. With the threat of him gone, I melt next to The Little Mermaid.

Natalie hadn't moved.

Fear replace the heart in my chest and pumped panic into my veins. I placed a shaky hand on her shoulder. I paused. She's cold.

I tried to yell but could only manage a pathetic moan. I shook her gently and got no response. The hairs on my arms stood up. Shivers raced over my skin.

I pushed her shoulder, flipping her onto her back. I stopped breathing.

Natalie's face was painted in fresh blood. More blood oozed from the corner of her gaping lips. Her nose trickled a trail of red. A tear slipped down my cheek. Natalie's eyes were closed, and a stick erupted only a centimeter away from her left eye.

I caught my breath in a gag. "Help," I said. "HELP!!" I screamed, "HELP!!" My voice tore at my throat, leaving it raw. I cried and screamed harder, desperate for someone's attention.

I stood up and yelled with all my might ant the doors, willing someone to erupt triumphantly from its holdings. Nobody came. I felt a tug-of-war of mighty urges pulling me towards hopeful doors and helpless Natalie.

The doors one. I trample through the nearest hallway, paintings made by proud kindergarteners flying beside me. I storm uninvited into the closest door.

"Natalie!" I yell. All heads turn to me, disgust, fear, and curiosity written in their expressions. I look to Mrs. Rangers in the back of the room, whom, of which, is pudgy and no taller than I. "You have to help Natalie," I explain, "She's on the front lawn and her face is all bloody and-"

"You should sign up for the play," she said, "You are a mighty fine actor."

"No," I said. Natalie is hurt and Mrs. Rangers doesn't believe me. There are no potential heroes in this classroom.

I leave them, wasting no precious time, and break into the next classroom. Heads turn again and I am washed back into kindergarten through memories. This is where I had learned. With Mrs. Wallis.

"Hello, Matthew," Mrs. Wallis said, "What a pleasant surprise."

All of the kid's little eyes were on me. I didn't want to scar them, but what choice did I have. Natalie needed help and that was more important to me in the moment than what those kids would witness when they walked out those doors after me.

"Mrs. Wallis," I said, rambling unconsciously to her. She has to understand!

She does.

Mrs. Wallis and her band of kindergarteners fallow me out of the school. I run over the grass to Natalie, Mrs. Wallis's breath catching in her throat. Flies happily buzz un-swatted over her blood. I bend down, becoming the human fly swatter, and wave the flies away.

My heart stopped. Even covered in blood, Natalie was still the most beautiful girl I have ever saw.

I looked behind me to the chaos. Mrs. Wallis was punching three digits into her phone and her kindergarteners stood cowering behind her. I wanted to tell them it was okay- I wanted someone to tell me it was okay, but it wasn't.

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