Invisible

where is my damn whiteboard?

It didn't help. Running didn't help. Of course Stony-faced guy followed me, it would only be the decent thing to do. I guess I was just so surprised that he did.

I mean he's new, why ruin the possibility of popularity as the hot bad boy, all just to go check some mute girl is okay?

But he didn't just follow me to the outside of the bathroom when he caught up with me. In fact he waited for me to go in the bathroom,  which I thought was odd until I realised he was just gonna follow me in there, anyway, stood outside the cubicle door. The cubicle door where I sat, on the other side, sobbing vigorously.

They were not my usual quiet sobs either. They made terribly loud, embarrassing noises.

The thing is, my mutism is psychological, not physical.  I CAN talk. I just DON'T WANT TO. It's been this way for quite some years now, and in those years, there's only been one person I talk to out loud and that's my mom.

My dad... Well he's been out of the picture my whole life. I've never seen him.

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When I was fourteen, something horrible happened to me. A traumatic experience. I was kidnapped.  And for the four whole days I was missing, before the police found me, I was scared shitless- as any normal human would be.

I still remember the first thing that cruel, foul-smelling, ugly bastard said to me, as he strapped me to a chair, ready to let his psychotic, Sadistic torturing of me begin: "shut it, you little bitch! One word and you're dead!"

That was four years ago. And I haven't spoken since.
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"I'm sorry about the way he treated you." His voice was low, yet somehow soft and it brought me out of that unholy memory which was about to make the tears flow even faster. I was so caught up in my thoughts, I'd totally forgotten he'd followed me here.He seemed almost upset on my behalf, I don't know. 

I think he remembered I couldn't reply back so instead he passed something white and shiny under the door with a pen. 

My whiteboard.

"Tell me what you're thinking about, flower."

Flower? Where did that come from.

His pacing seemed slower and more relaxed when he heard the sound of me picking up the board, the click of the pen lid and the squeaking of the pen as it danced across the board, making magical words that could never be said out loud.

Flower? Where did that come from?

I passed it under the door. It was barely a minute before I got an adorably warm and hearty chuckle.

"I don't really know." he said, honestly "It's just the first thing I noticed about you, when I walked through the door- your headband with the blue flower on it."

I blushed and instinctively hid my face in my hands, even though I knew he couldn't see me. But by doing this, I realised he'd already passed the whiteboard under the door, with the pen.

"Tell me what you're thinking now." he said. Though I could tell it was more of a request than an order, by the gentle tone of his voice.

I picked up the board and pen.

Why are you being so nice to me? You're new and have a chance at being popular and having friends. Don't you want that, instead of being sat in a girls' bathroom trying to befriend the school's biggest nerd?

A lone tear, I didn't realise was trickling down my face, landed on the board as I was passing it under the door.

His sigh of sadness indicated he had read it.

"No." he said "I'm being nice to you because I can see people around here haven't been looking after you, and I think that it's time someone did. If befriending you and discovering every enticing and intriguing detail about you makes me unpopular,  then I'd take befriending the nerd over popularity. Any day. But for the record, I've seen no indication that you're anything but an angel, Chica. Mi bonito flore azúl.

He's Spanish?
What did he just call me?

The whiteboard was already there to write on.

So you're doing this because you pity me? I wrote.

"No! Nothing like that! Not because I pity you. Because I want to. I swear, flore, I'm gonna be there for you, from now on. You can rely on me. Please come outta that stall."

The way he said the last bit was almost like a beg. And he'd been so beautifully kind to me. And I had to come out sooner or later, I mean I may as well just come out now.

Slowly, I rose from the seat, wiped my eyes one final time, turned the lock on the door, and opened it. Looking up I saw scintillating blue eyes, that spoke of kindness, slightly covered by that silky, black hair, looking down at me. So blue, like their own rare shade of ultramarine.

Taking a look at his entire face I could see he was smiling at me. Even if I wasn't originally in the mood to smile, something about his face prompted me to.

"What's your name?" he asked, passing me the whiteboard and pen with his only free hand that I realised was because he was using the other to carefully hold my hand in his, rubbing circles into it.

It made me feel all warm and bubbly inside but it was a feeling unknown to me. It scared me, and I pulled away from his touch. He looked somewhat hurt but understanding, nonetheless.

"What's your name, flower?" he asked me, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ears and making me blush, oh so much more.

I wanted to say it out loud. Something about him made me trust him. I wanted to say it out loud but something in my mind was telling me it was a bad idea. I was so afraid and nervous. I instinctively lowered my head, in shame, like all the other times I found myself too challenged by my selective mutism.

I was hoping he'd walk away. Instead, a warm, soft feeling reached my chin as it was ever so gently pulled upwards to face him. I realised, then, that he'd used his thumb and forefinger.

"You don't have to be afraid, with me, flower. You can trust me. I promise you." and somehow I believed him. "Please tell me your name."
It sounded so desperate.

Okay, I can do this. I'm gonna do this. Just open your mouth and say the word.

I cleared my throat a little before saying "Andrea."

When I say I said it, it was more of a whisper. In fact it was a whisper so quiet I'm not sure it even reached a decibel.

He brought his face in front of my own, a hand placed on my cheek.

"It's okay, flower, you're almost there. You can do this, I believe in you."

And some how that gave me the courage I needed to say "Andrea. My name is Andrea."

It was still barely a whisper, but a whisper he seemed to hear. He heard me. I spoke. To a person. And he heard me.

The biggest smile exploded onto my face as I realised how amazing this was. Stony-faced guy had helped me reach so much progress in just a few minutes, that I hadn't made in four years.

Wait... Speaking of... What the hell is his name?