Bruised and Scarred [short story]

Part Two: Meeting

" every act causes a ripple with no logical end"

Fresh emeralds, diluted cloud -spat blues, washed out greys, blinding scarlets blur together in a whir of colours, bleeding into the scenery beyond the window as the bus speeds down the road.

Two minutes. Three minutes. Four. Five. Seconds tick past to the growl of the motor, minutes whizzing by to the sputtering of the aged engine. I can still smell smoke on ny fingers, feel the blood dripping, deadly crimson, on my skin. I remember the sparks that filled the tiny room, exploding in the air in bursts of old childhood memories- boundless joy, excited squeals, laughter.

The bus screeches to a halt, and I alight outside the building where my class is, walking with slow, measured steps. Perfection. I always, always strive for perfection, craving for the order in my life that I've never had. I tug at my sleeves, adjust the straps of my backpack, all the while glaring at the ground.

"Oof!"

I stumble backwards, catching myself before I fall. My cheeks burn in hot embarrassment, and already I'm berating myself- how could I be so careless? So inattentive? So... imperfect?

"Hey, are you all right?" A kind voice interrupts my thoughts. I look up, biting my lip. Should I speak? Should I do something? What if I trip over my words? Doubts fill my head, and it's all I can do to smile wanly.

It's a boy, around my age, lanky and with ruffled hair the colour of ink. He's slightly tanned, with sparkling chocolate eyes and a smile that seems uncertain, yet, confident.

"Y-Yeah, I'm okay," I mutter, breaking away from his gaze and looking at the ground. "You should go, you're probably late for your class. I-I mean, if you have a class to go, that is." My eyes burn as my cheeks flame red hot, tears pressing against their emerald cages. Stupid, stupid me, with my big mouth and my clumsy words, tumbling out of my mouth without restraint. Why did I have to speak? "I'm sorry, I just..." 

My words cut off in a sob, and I look away, hands automatically flying to my wrists as I clutch onto myself. I'm a leaf trembling in the howling gale, threatening to fall off the branch, and spin out of control into nothingness.

"Don't cry," I look up, blinking at him through blurry vision. He walks closer to me, placing a warm hand on my shoulder. I stiffen at his touch, the warmth that feels oh-so-comforting. And unconsciously, I want to lean against him and sob into his shoulder. I want to spill all my secrets, I want to let everything out, but I can't, I can't, I can't because I don't deserve kindness.

Most of all, I would be a fool to drop all my walls for someone I just met. 

"You're not crazy. You're just lonely. And loneliness can be one hell of a drug," I can't help but smile slightly as the swear word escapes his lips. He grins upon seeing me smile, his face lighting up. "And if it makes you feel better, I do in fact have a class which I'm actually late for."

"Then why don't you leave?" I whisper, my words drifting into the air in thin wisps, fragile fragments dissipating in the wind. I can't help but feel the slightest tug of disappointment, something that I know shouldn't be there, because he's just a stranger and I shouldn't be thinking about him this way.

"You're worth my time," he says back simply, his lips tugging into a smile again. My heart jolts, but I can't stop myself as I turn away, allowing more tears to fall to the ground, seeping into the soil. If he knew, if he knew how useless I am, how flawed I am, he wouldn't be saying that.

"But I'm not worth yours," I reply, feeling something crack in me as I notice his crestfallen expression.

Nevertheless, I turn and run away.

----

I never expect to see him again.

I never expect to be attending the same Mathematics tuition class as him; him who happens to start attending lessons the very day we meet.

I never expect to be assigned to work with him.

I guess this is just how fate is.

"We meet again," he remarks as he slides into the seat across from me. I remain quiet, staring at my lap as thoughts swirl and dance across my head. I can't help but miss the security I felt around him, the comfort I felt with him. Desperation, a moment of weakness- I must remain perfect. "Why don't you speak?" He questions. I hear his voice, hurt and confused, but I don't answer. He is but a stranger. He sighs.

"You know, I don't understand," he mumbles. He sounds tired now, and I know why. It's because of me, because of the cracks I have, my clumsiness, my weakness, everything about me. "I don't understand how you can be so jolly and happy around others. How you can smile, and laugh, and be so carefree," his voice softens as he continues, losing its hard edge. "I don't understand how you can be two completely different people. How you can be so cheery around others, yet..." He struggles to speak, and I hear him inhaling sharply. "I see you crying because you think that I'll judge you for being human, and I see you acting so distant, and cold."

"I guess that's the whole point of pretence, isn't it?" I surprise myself when I answer, my voice bitter and resentful. "It's to fake and fake and fake until you don't know who you are, until you forget that you're a worthless piece of trash, until you can't even distinguish if your actions are coming from your heart. Then, after the false utopia you build for yourself, you come crashing back down to earth. Walls are there for a reason. The more you open yourself up, the more hurt you get."

He sits, stunned for a few moments, before he shakes his head.

"I've never met someone like you," he whispers quietly. "I want to know you, the real you, not the girl you appear to be, but that crying, shaking girl I met near the bus stop. Okay?"

"I..." I hesitate, pushing back the tears that are threatening to surface again. It's not the first time I've seen someone who 'cares', and I don't want to fall for it again. I don't want to be shot down again. I don't want to be insulted over and over again until I fall to my knees pleading for mercy. I glance down, and it's almost like I can see the red marks on my wrists, flowering across my arm. His words echo in my head as I look into his pleading brown eyes.

You're not crazy.

And, almost unwittingly, I hear myself saying okay.

A/N

I've decided to extend this to about five parts or so, because halfway through class I suddenly got hit with an idea.

I want to make this story a motivational one, a story that can reach out to people and tell them, hey, you're not alone. That's what I'm striving for.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. This was not edited, and was typed on my phone, so there may be some mistakes. Please notify me if you find any! Remember to vote and comment if you liked it!