The sound of my shutting bedroom door continues to ring throughout my ears, my surroundings blurring into nothing. My eyes are camera lenses, focusing in on one thing while the rest is indistinct. The lenses normally find themselves concentrated on the road when I am driving, or the whiteboard in a classroom. Or anything about Grace.
How her brown eyes transform in the sunlight with green splattered in the edges. Her spring-like strands of curls that bounce with each step she takes through the hallways. Her gentle hands that find a way to make me feel safe even when they're pressed against my chest.
Anytime someone else touches my chest, I'm hit with a wave of utter discomfort. Even my own mother who knows that underneath the compression is a pair of breasts that I do not with to have. Grace didn't know. We had never gone as far as our clothes being off (except for the party, where she was probably too drunk to be paying attention or remember) but her delicate fingers would still hold my chest and I wouldn't care.
A few minutes pass until my mother comes in and she stares at me in confusion, "That girl Grace was really sweet. Why did she leave so early?"
"It doesn't matter." I answer while grabbing my journal and setting it in it's original position, "None of it matters anymore."
She sees the heartbreak in my eyes and her mind connects the dots, "I'm sorry Zane...I wish there was more I could do to help you out."
And I understand her. I feel her sympathy and know that she feels badly for me and the situation I am in. Yet she's helpless, she can't heal what I have broken. That is my responsibility, and maybe one day I can fix it.
YOU ARE READING
binded
Novela JuvenilGrace's life is normal. She has lived seventeen years of her life as the type-A girl with perfect grades and adoration from her parents. She has everything in the palm of her hand and doesn't want that to change. Zane has a secret. He is on the run...
