Ripple - [COMPLETED] [Undergoing Editing]

Chapter Nineteen

Two Weeks Later...

Evan stared forward, his head resting on his good hand while his injured wrist laid atop the desk. His eyes were still and his lips perched shut. He watched as each terrible presentation went on one after another. His head raised when his name was called and he felt himself stand up and cross to the front of the class. He slouched at the desk in the front of the classroom and sighed. He picked up the painting and set it on the easel. He stared at it. He kept it a secret from her, the portrait that he made of her. He captured a photo of her laughing and decided to bring it to life. He spent so much time making sure every intricate detail was in place. He didn't dare mess up the beauty of her natural bliss. Now, all he could see was the pale sprawled out image on the floor. The cold eyes of a stranger staring at him. A stranger whose name he soon recognized after it was revealed. Christian. This was the guy who Katie went out of her way to help. Who caused her to be harassed and who killed her.

"Evan, if you can't-." His teacher started, his tone sympathetic.

"What's the point?" Evan exclaimed. "You know maybe I should capture the way she really looks now." He walked over and grabbed a tub of paint, a red can. He opened it and tossed it on the painting. The entire class gasped and he couldn't stop. The paint flew everywhere. "This is what she looks like now, right? I was supposed to depict natural beauty." He stared at the canvas. He was now covered in paint, as was the floor. His eyes were blinded by the tears that clouded him. He couldn't even make out her face anymore. He felt himself collapse to the ground. His teacher rushed over and wrapped his arms around him. "What's the point of any of this anymore?" Evan asked.

"Why don't you go ahead and go see Mr. Lewinsky, okay?"

Evan nodded and stood up, making the familiar route to the guidance counselor. He stopped at the wall they had set up to memorialize the 12 students who died. Right in the center of it was her. His hand gently caressed the photo that stared back at him. It was two weeks now. Two weeks and he was suddenly supposed to begin living as a normal teenager again. He pulled the chain from around his neck that he had tucked into his shirt. He stared at the ring that was attached. She told him within five years she wanted them to be married, but his timeline was so a bit ahead. He had been planning to propose to her at graduation. It was no secret they were in love, and after three flawless years, he wanted that infinite more. Now he would give his life for just another second.

He felt his bottom lip begin to quiver as the salty wetness fell from his eyes. He tried to recompose himself, but he couldn't. He stared into those eyes. The eyes that would forever remain still in that photograph. He clutched to his chest and used the wall to lower himself to the floor. Standing becoming too challenging for him to bare. He pulled up his knees and crossed his arms, and sobbed into his legs. He couldn't hold back. This entire place was too much for him. Everything reminded him of her. He tried to remember the way he saw her on the ground. He tried to focus on the aroma of lavender, the softness of her lips, her bouncy well-kept blond hair, the way her skirts swayed as she walked. He tried to remember her laugh, the one that filled his heart with warmth and gave him the feeling of home. He tried to recall the way her eyes would shine when he called her beautiful and the way her cheeks would redden. He rubbed his hand with his finger trying to remember the way it felt when she did that to him. He tried to remember the way it felt when her chest met his, the way she called his name when they made love. But, he couldn't. He couldn't remember any of it without the tarnished image of her body, sprawled out and covered in blood. He couldn't recall the lavender aroma because the scent of blood abused his nostrils. He couldn't do a thing without being reminded that she was dead and he was here without her.

He stood up and looked down the hall at the door of the guidance counselor. He sighed, and started towards it, only stopping at a flyer on the wall.

[EVERY SOLDIER HAS A REASON. WHAT'S YOURS?]

He tore the flyer of the wall and stared at it a moment longer. He shoved it in his back pocket. The still, demonic eyes of Christian burned in his mind.