"There he was. Eyes like stones, hair like sunshine, skin as pale as an arctic snowstorm, but one thing was for certain: he was mine and I was his."
Avery Rose's life is everything but ordinary. After moving for the fifth time in 3 years, she runs...
an: updating two chapters today for a christmas present from me to you :))
The bell rang and the class emptied out faster than anything i've seen, leaving Tate, Mr. Ford, and I. I scurried to get my books in my bag, dropping the notes we exchanged on the floor. I picked them up and tried to hand them to Tate, but he was gone without a trace. I look around, puzzled and Mr. Ford approaches me. "Better get to second period. Don't want to be late on your first day." He said and with that I was out the door.
The rest of my day went by fast. I avoided the so called "coke whores" with all my might and kept a constant eye out for Tate, with no idea where he could have gone off to. I headed to my locker to grab my books and then head home.
12-33-17. I swirled in my locker combo and opened the small door with a squeak. My hand raised, causing my sweater to slide up my arm and expose my fresh new cuts. I was nervous about today and gave into the god awful razor. There's just something about the blood. It causes so much pain but even more relief. I caught myself just staring at the fresh just scabbed blood red lines that crossed my fragile wrist, almost admiring it. It's not that I found beauty in my suffering, it's that I find beauty in the jist of it all. In the pain and harm I caused on my own self, to distract me from the agony of my mind and life. How ironic. I slowly start to close my locker, still staring at my disintegrated wrist.
"You're doing it wrong." I heard a voice behind me and gasped while I threw my arm down and covered it with my sleeve. I turned around and saw the one and only Tate.
I puzzled my eyebrows. "What— What are you doing here?" I said in quick panic.
I looked into his eyes. They were a deep, welcoming brown. Light enough to know he has a kind heart and sweet soul, but dark enough to see the pain and suffering he's encountered in his life. His shambolic hair was the color of sand on a rainy day and went in all sorts of directions. His skin was as white as a dove and as soft as satin.
He shook his head with a cheesy smile, revealing those same dimples I saw this morning. Tate raised a smart eyebrow. "If you're trying to kill yourself, cut vertically— they can't stitch that up." He advised, eyeing my covered up wrist. I shyly breathed out and turned again to close my locker. He leaned in close to my ear. I could feel his breath radiate heat onto my skin, sending chills all over my body. He whispered, "And if you're trying to kill yourself, you might also try not staring so obviously at your self harmed wrists in public."
I turned around, with my mouth gaping open, but Tate was already on his way. I stared helplessly at him as his figure grew smaller and smaller.
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