The Woodlands (#1 THE WOODLANDS SERIES) (COMPLETE)

5. BREAKDOWN

“Bianca? I know that name. Where are you from?” he asked, catching up to me with Big, thumping strides.

“Same as you, same as everyone,” I snarled, “Ring Three, Pau Brasil.” As I walked, I tied my hair back from my face, pulling it into a low ponytail.

“No, what’s your family background?” he laughed, infuriatingly. He didn’t seem to be getting my tone or he was ignoring it. This boy seemed glib and I didn’t appreciate his condescending question. I understood what he meant—I just didn’t want to talk to him.

“I don’t have a family,” I lied unconvincingly, quickening my pace. What did he care?

He matched my steps.

I spun around to look at him, my ponytail whipping me in the face, a mouthful of hair momentarily derailing my anger. I took his large frame in. He seemed much taller and broader than most of the boys in Ring Three. He stood a good foot and a half over me and he was big. Not fat, just tall and well-muscled. His face was strong and older looking, with a sharp, chiseled jaw and a slightly crooked nose. His long, light eyelashes framed green, staring eyes that had no compunction about continuing to stare.

His hair and skin was lighter than most people in Pau. He didn’t even have a hint of a tan and his hair, which was falling in his eyes, was blonde and curly. Not tight, ringlet curls, just a gentle, golden wave of thick shiny hair that made its way over his ears, and stopped above his neck. When he looked up, the curls linked into each other, like the weave of a basket across his brows. When he disturbed those gentle links, loose curls would fall in his eyes. He probably attracted a lot of attention, with his pretty eyes and incessant smiling. He was handsome, but irritatingly so, and I wished he would divert his attention away from me.

“You mean, you don’t have a family anymore,” he said in a more serious tone. “I’m sure you had one, maybe you just lost it.” His eyes showed a winking concern. Or maybe pity? This made me even more furious. I wasn’t sure what he meant by that—I knew where my family was. I hadn’t lost them like a misplaced library book. I just knew I needed to start letting them go and also, it was none of his business.

“What’s your father’s name?”

I looked at him suspiciously, narrowing my eyes, wishing I had a weapon of some kind. Why was he asking me so many questions?

“Whoa!” He put his hands up in mock surrender. “Don’t worry, Miss, I am not the secret police or anything, just curious. You look very familiar to me. Something about those beautiful eyes…”

Ugh! My eyes. The topic of much discussion. The source of much unwanted attention. I hated them. My mother had brown eyes, brown hair, and dark skin. I looked just like her, dark and slight, but with different eyes. They were my father’s eyes. Every time I looked in the mirror, I was reminded of the man who left us. The man I had few memories of, but who was kind enough to leave his eyes. A genetic oddity I could never escape. I hated my father and I hated my eyes. He was to blame for bringing Paulo into our lives. He was to blame for what was happening to me now. I could feel tears rising. I wiped my face with my sleeve, tasting rust, and glared at the boy.

“Look, leave me alone, I’m not who you think I am. I am…” And that was it. I ran a few meters away from the confused boy and collapsed on the ground. Who cared if he saw me crying? I had every right to be upset. But I was ashamed at myself for being so emotional. My mother would never behave like this, which only made it worse. My life was about to change forever and this boy was harassing me about my eyes. I buried my face in my hands and sobbed. I could barely breathe for how hard I was crying. My whole body shook in jerky movements, like I couldn’t calm my limbs down or make them do what I wanted them to do.

I felt a warm, heavy hand on my back, patting me softly, awkwardly. I let it sit there. I felt drained, no more fight left in me. I let it all out and, thankfully, he didn’t say a word.