a week passed. i had talked to you everyday. nothing had seemed off, and i didn't notice anymore bruises or injuries. everything seemed to be fine.
until one day.
the school day had ended and i was walking to my car when i caught a glimpse of your red hair. i stopped in my tracks.
a girl who i had seen many times before had you cornered against a car. you were looking down at your shoes and the girl seemed to be talking to you.
i made my way towards you slowly, trying to hear what she was saying.
"...why are you even here still? you should just kill yourself. nobody cares about you anyway." she hissed, crossing her arms.
my breath caught in my throat.
how could she say that to you? how can anyone say that to anybody else? what gives you the right to tell people when to stop breathing?
before i could even register what was happening i was by your side. i stood in front of you, my stance intimidating and possessive.
"get away from here right now." i growled, my eyes narrowing into slits. the girls eyes widened in fear and she backed away slowly. i didn't waste any time before i turned around to face you.
"are you okay?" i asked, my voice softening. i lifted your chin and your eyes met mine.
tears balanced on your eyelashes, threatening to spill out. the whites of your eyes were slightly red from holding back your tears, which made the blue stand out even more.
you shook your head no and wrapped your arms around my torso, resting your head on my shoulder. i could feel you shaking with sobs. so i let you cry, and i hugged you back.
i want to make sure there's always a shoulder for you to cry on.
YOU ARE READING
i'm sorry.
Short Story(Completed) your body was a canvas and your father's fist was the paintbrush. lowercase intended