Backstage: Miles and Alya

• Chapter Two •

Miles walked home with Alya, daunted by her straight blonde hair that flowed in the wind, the sparkle in her pretty blue eyes. Even though he couldn't put his finger on it, there was just something that, clicked, between the two of them.

The two were laughing and talking about that day in class. "And when Jax threw a paper airplane at Kit's head," Alya went on, "that was priceless!"

Miles smiled. "The look on her face, she looked like she was about to murder him!"

Alya giggled. "If Mr. Park wasn't in there, she probably would have."

As they rounded a corner, Miles and Alya came upon a small house, complete with two stories but with very little perimeter.

"This is it. When we get in there,
follow me, and follow me quickly." Alya said, her voice going from carefree to urgent in a heartbeat.

Miles was confused. "Why-?"

Alya looked at him, her eyes betraying frustration. "Just do it!" she flashed back.

They walked in the house, Miles noticing that Alya was almost jogging. Keeping up with her pace, they rounded a corner and flew up a flight of stairs until they were at a bedroom door. She opened it and quickly ushered him inside, closing the door behind her.

"Do you care to explain why we just ran from the front door to your bedroom in less than a second?" Miles asked Alya.

Alya shrugged, keeping to herself and rubbing her arm. "Isn't it hot up here?" she said, trying to change the subject.

Miles looked at her, and then her jacket. "Why don't you take off your jacket-"

"No! It's just, well- it's complicated," she said, almost so quiet that Miles couldn't hear. He wouldn't question her. He had said that phrase so many times that he knew what it meant.

"So, are we going to get started, or what," Alya asked, the usual smile of hers crossing her face once more.

Miles really wanted to find out what was troubling Alya, but he didn't push it. He knew more than most that if there was a secret to keep, they wouldn't open up unless they wanted to.

• • • • • • • • •

"Cause I know I can treat you better, than he can," Miles sang, strumming his guitar.

"Ohh oh, treat me better," Alya sang at the same time as him, almost in harmony.

They went on like that until the song was finished, and Alya looked at Miles. "That was great!" she said enthusiastically.

"I know, do you want to sing it again-" Miles stopped mid-sentence, hearing a door from downstairs open.

Something about Alya's expression changed. "Don't move from this bed, and do not make a sound," she urgently whispered, running downstairs quickly.

He sat there, wondering what was wrong, until he heard a cry of pain. Slowly, he stood up and looked through the crack of the door.

Alya was lying down on the ground, her jacket off, bruises and dried blood from her arms to her legs. Did she fall down the stairs? he wondered, about to go to her aid. But that was not it.

He watched in horror, as a man, obviously older, began whacking her hard with a beer bottle, opening up new bruises and fresh blood. She writhed in agony as he continually did so, and finally he was done, walking away silently.

Miles stood there as she quietly sat up and wiped away the blood that was on her mouth, where her lip was bleeding. Carefully, she put her jacket back on her arms, slipped on the sweatpants, and trudged upstairs. He quickly got back up and sat on her bed.

"So," she said, giving him a weak smile, "where were we?"