Shadow Seeker

Drawing Attention

I look at him in shock, wondering what a guy like him would be doing with a new girl.

Annoyance crosses my conscience as I realize this is not the right way to blend in and go unnoticed.

He glances nervously around the lunchroom, checking out who could be watching our little exchange... His mind a fuzz that's not actually thinking about any specific topic. Then he punches a folded up piece of paper across the table to me.

I glance at it, half shocked that he finished the drawing. He seems worried about what I might think of it, and realize that his art is something only he knows of. No one was really made aware of it.

I open it up and glance at the intricately drawn dragon snarling at the knight. The little man looks properly scared at the fanged monstrosity standing with furled wings before him. Although... The knight might actually be scared due to the fact that the dragon had caught him on fire with his breath.

I can't help it. I start laughing.

I shock myself. I can't remember the last time I laughed. I had forgotten what laughter was, beside the annoying sound that other happy individuals get to enjoy together. I hadn't laughed for years... Not really since... Well... HIM.

When I did laugh it was more of a sarcastic snarl.

Hurt and embarrassment stabs at my brain. I bring my palm to my head, trying to hold back the migraine ripping open my skull.

I glance at the boy sitting in front of me, and wonder why my mind is so open to his mental stability and emotions.

She's laughing at me. Whatever. It doesn't matter. I don't care.

I understand he is trying to convince himself. He starts to stand up, and is about to make a move to take the paper masterpiece from me, but I snatch it to my chest.

"I'm sorry," I mumble. "I wasn't laughing at YOU! I was... Laughing that you made the knight on fire!" I smile up at him, only a slight turn of my lips.

He stands there confused, his mind drifting from thought to thought as he tries to figure out if he believes me.

"Oh" he states, and plops himself back down on the seat. Embarrassment swells back up inside of him.

"You're really good," I proclaim. "Don't let anyone tell you differently."

He looks at me in disbelief. He doesn't exactly believe me, but neither does he assume me a liar. We are at an impasse with his thoughts on his talent.

We sit in a comfortable silence for the rest of the lunch period, and at the end I tuck the paper into my back pocket.

Only three more classes to endure.

The day drags on as the human classes become repetitive. My head is killing me, and I don't know if my body can overdose on Ibuprofen or not.

I mean... 10 in three hours isn't too bad... Right? At least... I'm not normal. I have lived for 300+ years. Surely if I was going to die, it wouldn't be from an overdose. Like death could be that easy.

As the last bell rings, I know I'll have to get more potent meds if I'm going to stay in proximity with working minds.

I walk through the halls back towards my assigned locker.

That's the girl that Aspen sat next to. Anger rolls off her thoughts. No. Jealousy. Mine. He's mine. All the boys here are mine.

     Oh. So she's one of those girls. I get different thoughts from around me. She's the popular girl. She gets what she wants. Poor girl. And one that makes me chuckle: head bitch. I think that last one could be taken as a compliment, honestly.

     I see that she's going to knock over my books, make me fall on my face and then start laughing, and others would follow suit. As people always do. Pick on the new one, or the young one, or the small one. They fall first. The ones who stand are the first to laugh.

     To freakin bad.

     I step back, avoiding her outstretched arm, walk around her, and then watch as she trips over her slut heels as she overcompensates for missing me.

     There's one guy that laughs. He seems to realize his mistake and shuts up, even before me and the head bitch glare at him. 

     I don't like bullies.

     I reach down to help her up, and she finally accepts after thinking about my intent.

     She's annoyed at my niceness. Ha! If only she knew. I wasn't a good person... Not anymore.

"Leave me alone," she mutters. She scowls, but memories are flashing through her mind.

Her childhood honestly sucked. She was the product of bullying. I see her in a cute pink dress, freckles adorning her nose, and glasses perched upon her face.

Then I see a boy touching her while she tries to push him away, and when she finally concedes he pushes her away, like she was the filth.

I know from personal experiences that not all "mean girls" are a sad story waiting underneath. Some are just stuck up, petty, little rich girls who are use to getting their way.

But not this girl.

I see her at home, with her mom. It's rough.

She always goes to her friends houses, in shame of her own-in comparison. She works only to get the "right clothes". She's been pushing her mom away, and life in general is stressing her out.

And right now she's on the edge of crying.

Damn. I hate when people cry.

I lean in. "You don't have to be like this," I whisper. "Remember who you are."

The crowd starts dispersing. And I get caught in a flashback she has.

Her dad is leaving her, called to go back to a military job. It's in Iraq. Her birthday is in a week, and he will miss it, so he gives her the gift ahead of time, making sure she promises not to open it till it was time. He tells his little ballerina goodbye.

When the day comes for her to turn 7, she opens it up to find a jewelry box with a little dancing ballerina on the inside, whenever it's opened.

Two weeks later the family gets a visitor saying that their father/husband has gone MIA. Missing in action.

Five weeks later they find his tags, along with the remains of a body. It was a mission gone wrong, and the crushed dreams of a little ballerina girl.

All the emotions she feels drains into my own brain and body. This is the worst part of my ability, my mind tells me what it is they're feeling. Physical or emotional. I am there with them.

She's turning away, eyes wide, trying to hold in unshed tears.

I reach out to her.

"Don't forget yourself, ballerina," I say softly.

Then I walk away, leaving her behind-speechless.