For Andrea Martinez, in a world where, when talking is impossible, so is fitting in. You become a ghost in the hall, a freak you stray from, the mute who is never picked to ask questions.
Until Hunter Alvarez, new-to-the-school bad boy, takes an int...
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^^ The Photo Above is of Hunter Alvarez^^
He held out a hand in front of me, ready to shake. Hesitantly, I took his hand in mine, shaking it lightly. It was only for a Second though. I had never been much for skin contact. My psychiatrist says it's a trust issue thing. Ever since then, four years ago, I just can't. Well, I can. But only for so long and it took four years just to get this far.
"Hunter. Hunter Alvarez." He said, with a smile, though his voice was somehow uneven and his shoulders were tensed liked he'd been shocked or something...
So his name was Hunter. I replied with a simple smile, looking deep into his eyes. They were so blue. Something about them and the way they made me feel, it was like I was being pulled into them, like I could stare at them all day long. Ultramarine blue with specks of hazel on the inside.
Taking the whiteboard, I started to write.
Why do you care so much?
When he read it, it was like his eyes had lit up with thoughts of something magnificent. The reply was simple but so effective. It was the last thing I expected and yet warmed up my body, right to the core- it shocked me and yet somehow had me feeling better than I had ever felt, all with one simple sentence.
He sighed before saying "Because I think you're beautiful."
My eyes widened, the shock clear on my face. I wanted to blush and smile and even give him the biggest hug I'd given anyone. But the horrible memory that came to mind drained my face, scary enough to give anyone nightmares.
The man was back again, plaguing my life with the same torturous flashbacks. I was strapped to that wooden chair, so hard it was giving me a backache. The tears were streaming down my face but I wasn't making a sound. I was so afraid. He was stood right in front of my face, his breath so bad it kicked in my gag reflexes, almost choking me. He used a hand to scratch at his balding head, before wiping a thick layer of sweat from his acne infected face. It was hot in here. He brought the other hand up to my face, grabbing at my cheeks, digging his nails into my skin. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, with a smile so vicious I knew what would happen over those four days before it did. I remember thinking how I wish he'd just kill me- get it all over with. I wasn't so lucky.
The memory faded to me being held so tightly, as I came to from punching the walls of the bathroom so hard my knuckles had slips and the once white colour of the walls was now spattered with crimson. I had been having a panic attack, I could feel it from the way my lungs were burning from the hyperventilation. The sweat dripping from my face, mixed with the tears dripping from my eyes told me it all. And then it just stopped. It stopped because a whole new round of sobbing happened to me, the same as it always did when I realised I was insane.
My body shook fiercely with each sob, the warm arms holding onto me tighter, whispering sweet nothings to try and calm me down. We were there until it came to an eventual stop. I don't know how long for, exactly, but it felt like forever.
I looked up into the blue eyes that made me feel so warm, seeing concern across them. I knew that I'd probably freaked him out and he'd seen I was a freak just like everyone else. Part of me didn't mind. Part of me felt this was the way it was supposed to be and he'd go off to become friends with the popular kids the way he was supposed to.
Instead he exhaled slowly, his eyes closed, as though he were calming himself down. Then he looked at me, his eyes filled with such anger, though some part of me felt as though the direction of the anger was not at me.
"What happened to you flower?" He spoke with such concern, but I just couldn't tell him what had happened to me, all those years ago. Panic covered my entire body like a parasite, eating me alive. The fight or flight response kicked in and guess which response I chose: flight. And I did. I fled.
I ran out of the girls' bathroom, down the halls of the school and all the way to the parking lot, out the front. I caught my breath as I stormed through those front doors, before I ran again, heading to my beat up old car that, much like myself, seemed to hide in the background. But I didn't get there. I felt a hand latch onto my arm tightly so I couldn't get away.
The blue eyes I looked up at told me it was Hunter. About to yell at him and tell him to let me go, he did. But before I could run, he said "I understand if you want to run. I'm not going to stop you. I was just going to suggest a better place to run to."
Intrigued, I shrugged my shoulder as a means of asking where. He seemed to understand, as he soon spoke up "You look like you need to hit something." He smiled. I smiled. He waved at me to follow him. I would've worried about my car but I figured I'd just walk to school tomorrow and drive it home from there afterwards.
We drove to somewhere I knew all too well. I internally chuckled though I couldn't tell what I thought was more funny- the fact that Hunter had driven me to somewhere I regularly let off steam, without him knowing he had. Or the fact that he seemed to know exactly where I needed to go.
He'd driven me to a boxing gym for fighters, called The basement. It was practically falling apart on the outside, but all the bags were regularly replaced, from the furious fighters who beat the crap out of the leather bags each day and each week.
Standing up, confidently, I headed towards the building.
