The Silent One

{Three}

Kevin is in all of my classes except the one after Science.

That's good, because it gives me time to think about what I want to write. But I don't get to give him my note until last period. And because our teacher watches us like a hawk, I only manage to slip him the paper as everyone's leaving. He doesn't have time to answer me, because I slip out the door and rush to my car before he can even read what I've written. My heart's racing as I pull out of the parking lot and turn onto the road, but I'm not sure why. Am I actually nervous about how he'll react? I sure hope not, because that's crazy, at least for me. No matter what happens, I'll have my music, my gum, and my art. That's all that matters to me these days. That's all that should matter.

Not him.

Not this.

Tomorrow, it'll all go back to the way it was. He'll realize I'm not worth his effort, and I'll just be another face he recognizes in the hallway. And I won't care.

Will I?

No. I won't. I won't let myself.

xxx

Once I get home, I go up to my room and blast my music. The sun peeks in from behind my partly-closed blinds, giving me just enough light to see. I kick off my sneakers, peel of the sweatshirt I always wear over my T-shirt, and put a new piece of gum in my mouth. And then, I get out my paint.

An hour later, papers are strewn neatly across the floor, left for the paint to dry. I stand back, hands on my hips, and examine my work. Smiling to myself, I clean off my paintbrush and take my thin hair out of its ponytail before going downstairs. My socks slide on the tile floor and I try not to slip and fall while I heat up a piece of leftover pizza. Just as I'm taking my first bite, I hear keys in the lock to my front door. I freeze. For a second, I wonder if I should try to dash upstairs before she sees me, but then I decide against it. If she doesn't find me here, my mom will go upstairs and try to talk to me there.

I avoid her eyes when she walks into the room. But there's no point in it. I doubt she even cares anymore. The only way my mom would pay any attention to me was if I talked.

Everyone's been trying to get me to talk ever since it happened. Because it's a mystery, what happened. No one knows why Steven disappeared. No one knows why my dad disappeared. No one but me. And they can't even be sure I know, because I haven't talked.

And I don't plan on talking about it.

One year after Steven disappeared, people started to say he was dead. A year after that, the courts made it official. But I know for a fact that, to this day, his parents still wake up every morning, hoping to see him come down the stairs in his old blue plaid pajama pants and random T-shirt.

But I also know that all their hoping, won't do anything. Because Steven's dead. I know it.

But my dad's not. I also know that.

I wish he was.

I wish Steven wasn't.

But I can only wish.

xxx

My mom asks her usual round of questions; 'How was school? Have you heard from your father? What do you want for dinner?'; And when I don't say anything (as usual), she goes back into her office, probably to do some "lawyer" paperwork stuff. I swallow my last bite of pizza and go back upstairs to change into a pair of sweats and a different shirt. On my way out, I grab my key chain (because who knows whether my mom'll still be home whenever I get back), throw it around my neck, and close the door behind me. After making sure there's no one on the streets, I dash across the road and into the woods. Once I run for a while, I slow down to a jog and turn my music down a notch.

It's quiet here.

I like it.

Some time later, I stop, catch my breath, and then climb into a tree. I close my eyes.

Here, it's so easy to forget. And so I do. I clear my mind, and just relax.

At least, I relax until I feel something touch my arm. And then I fall out of the tree. And I land in Kevin's arms.

I'm not really that heavy, but when anyone falls several feet into someone's arms, they're not going to be able to stay standing. So even though Kevin manages to hold on to me, we both end up on the ground.

I gasp for air and then scramble to find my keys and iPod. Kevin gets up and helps me look.

Not a word is said.

For me, that's normal. But for anyone else? Not so much. This guy is strange.

Once I get back my things, he hands me a note. Curious, I open it up.

[What I wrote] 'I'm sorry for rushing out like that. It wasn't your fault.'

[What he wrote] 'That's okay. You don't have to explain either, unless you want to. Oh, and I still don't know your name!'

I'm grateful he isn't pushing me to talk about it. And I'm tempted to smile (two times in one day! Who would've guessed?) because he still doesn't know my name. Should I tell him? I guess I should. Why not?

'It's Angie. And thanks.'

"Angie." he says. "I like it." And then he writes, 'No prob. So what are you doing out here?'

'Jogging. I could ask you the same question.'

'I live out here. My house is back that way.' He draws an arrow pointing behind me.

Our "conversation" continues for almost an hour. I find it odd how fast time moves when I'm talking to Kevin. Usually, the minutes drag by. But not now.

Eventually, he has to leave, and I realize I probably should too. Even though my mom's almost definitely not there, the dinner she's ordered is probably getting cold. We write our goodbyes and walk away.

When I walk away, I feel... different. I feel almost... accepted. And it's nice.

I'm fairly close to my house when I see it. The red blindfold, tied to a tree and trembling in the breeze. I freeze. My heart stops. I forget how to breathe. I feel like I'm about to pass out, and I almost do.

But no. I have to be sure.

My whole body shakes in anticipation, and dread. Could this mean what I think it means? Is this even real? Or have I officially gone insane?

My fingers are tense. My whole body is tense. I have to force myself to breathe.

When my fingers touch the rough fabric, I let out the breath I was holding, and immediately start hyperventilating.

It's real.

It's really there.

Suddenly, I'm remembering; remembering the things I've been trying to forget for almost four years...

xxx

It's cold. Too cold for comfort. I rub my hands together as I walk. The icy wind blows through the tree leaves and I shudder.

I'm following the sound of footsteps ahead of me, even though I can't even see my dad anymore. I don't know why he's dragged me out here. What could he possible have to show me out in the middle of the forest?

I walk for what feels like hours before i hear the footsteps pause. Then, I stop and look around.

Just as I'm about to call out my dad's name, I feel hot breath on the back of my neck. Instinctively, I try to spin around, but someone stops me. I see red, red cloth, and then I don't see anything at all. I claw furiously at the blindfold, but rough hands force my hands behind my back.

And then I'm frozen in shock. Because I know those hands. Those are the same hands that I've watched hit my mother so many times. Those are the hands that used to hold me when I was little, before they turned to drugs and alcohol. Those are the hands I used to love. And they belong to the man I used to be proud to call my family. Those are the hands that belong to the man I've grown to hate.

My dad.

xxx

- Alyssa <3