Bruises

1: the track

The sleek wheel of my black Malibu glided under my hands. I pulled in to a slim parking spot, away from the tight cluster of cars and the bustling groups of students at Westchester High. I grabbed my bag, my keys, and my phone and pushed open the car door. The chilly air of autumn enveloped me in a tight hug.

I placed my feet upon my pavement with a soft thud and threw my bag over my shoulder.  Balancing my heavy bag, my phone and my keys all at once, I managed to lock my car and make my way over to the high school that towered over all of the students. I let the cool air fill up my lungs to the very top, the sensation sending a clutter of chills over my body.

This morning I quickly pulled myself into a dark wash pair of skinny jeans and loose white t-shirt. My feet were clad in strappy brown sandals, my pink toe nails peeking through. My long hair was thrown up in a messy ponytail, the tip of my bounding waves grazing the base of my neck. I had electric blue eyes and full, plump lips. Freckles were splashed across my cheeks as if my warm skin was a canvas.

Groups of chatty teenagers swamped the high school building. My eyes scanned over the many people and many faces, most that I recognized. Occasionally I would plaster a soft smile across my face. I wasn't the loudest person, but I offered up some sort of recognition.

I reached my group of laughing friends and relief flooded through my body. I smiled genuinely at them as they turned towards me, the same warm gaze flashed at me in return.

"Winter!" Kat, my utter and true best friend, greeted me with her warming and bubbly personality. She hands me a cup of coffee, and the familiar aroma tickles my nostrils.

I took a sip through the straw before saying anything else, letting the piping hot liquid run down my throat and the scent of coffee beans run through my lungs. "You know me so well," I praise her, noticing the touch of sweetener laced in the coffee.

"I know," Kat agrees egotistically, humor laced in her comment. I smile at the familiarity of it.

Not wanting to be pulled into the usual boy drama or girl gossip, I tune the chatter of my friends out. I continue to sip on my coffee and let my eyes wander across the entirety of the students, everyone separated into the classic cliques that seem to repeat themselves. My eyes trail down to myself, and I stare at my shoes and wiggle my toes. I immediately notice the obvious bruise on my forearm. I wince with memory and let the incident replay over and over in my mind. The flash of what seemed like innocence in his eyes before his hand found my skin brutally.

"Winter?" a voice wakes me from my daze. "Winter!"

"What?" I grumble at the voice, and turn to realize that it's Valerie standing in front of me.

"Class," she giggles. I flush lightly from my previous state, and lightly shake it off and push the thoughts into the recesses of my mind.

"Yeah," I nod. "Yeah sorry."

"You okay?" I follow her into the flushed warmth of the building, my eyes traveling across the bustling students beyond me as they hurry to homeroom.

"Fine," I lie. I gulp and I'm positive that she realizes that it's all a lie.

One of the biggest lies a person can tell: saying they're fine, but in reality, they're drowning in the pain.

***

The wind rushed past my face, pushing back my hair. I grinned as my feet grinded into the track. Little pieces of velvety pebbles flew upwards as my running shoes kicked them upward behind me. I felt my legs burn, my stomach tighten. This is exactly what I lived for: the rush of running. I come to a slow stop. My breathing hitched up in my throat as placed my hands upon the back of my head. My hair was sweaty and sticking up all over; I had thrown in it in a messy high ponytail before I came to work out. It felt good to pound the stress of school and problems at home into the track. When running, I knew that nobody could take away the power and hurt me.

I sprinted another distance before I called it quits for today. I yanked the hair band from my tangled mane and threw the hair accessory into my extra bag that I carried for when I went to the track after school. I left on just my jog bra and spandex as I drained the remaining substance from my water bottle. It partially cooled me from the overbearing warmth that suffocated my body. I took my time as I gathered my things and wandered amongst the bleachers, not wanting to go home.

"Damn, you sure can run," a deep voice from behind startles me. I whip around to find a boy my age with the brightest of eyes, just like mine.

He was in my grade. I immediately recognized him from my French 4 class. He had perfectly messy, dark blond hair. His lips were full and pulled into a bright grin. His jawline was strong and his body was toned.

"I'm Ayden," he smirked. "Ayden Jones. Sorry for scaring you," I also recognized him in the halls. He was a decently popular, well-liked athlete, who hung around with the similar kind of crowd. He ran track, and he was widely known for running a stellar half mile.

"Um," I stuttered. His tall body was utterly close to me, his breath just barely hitting the top of my head. "I'm Winter. Smith. It's alright," I pull my plump lips into a grin.

"Why aren't you on the track team?" he asked gently.

"I don't know. I'm not that good," I respond. I uncomfortably reposition the bag on my shoulder.

"Bullshit," he grins madly, "you're amazing! You should join this year."

"Thanks," I giggle lightly and blush. I clench and unclench my fists.

"No problem, cutie. See you around then?" the grin doesn't disappear from his face as he turns around and saunters out of the stadium.

"See you around," I whisper as my face is overwhelmed with pink.