The Mute Girl's Tutor

Prologue

Bring!!!!!!!!!!

Interupted my doodling. I stand up and walk past the teacher who never sees me, honestly I didn't know his name either so I couldn't be too upset. Sitting in the last seat in the far back corner and doodling during every class tends to make teachers eventually give up pretend that I don't exist. There was no reason to try and help the useless.

Walking through the busy hallways with my head down using my wavy chocolate brown hair as a curtain I weaved my way in and out of the people like a car in traffic. Until I remembered I couldn't drive running directly into a red wall and falling on my butt painfully hard. I sigh and roll my eyes at my stupidity, walls? Really Anneliese? Get a grip, I didn't even know Red was my school color!

Gathering my books felt awkward in a crowded hallway until a hand reaches out and tries to grab my last binder of the three I carried with me. I look up and see that the offending red wall was a boy. Aaron. Aaron Scott, the most popular kid in school to be exact. My eyes widen and I look down snatching my binder and getting myself up.

"Hey watch were your going." He groans. I roll my eyes before quickly walking off towards the library. No one usually went in there unless a teacher sent them there and sometimes they still didn't find themselves here. It didn't exactly have the widest variety of books but it was good enough for me.

Rushing in and closing the heavy door slowly behind me to resist a loud bang I rested my forehead on the cooled wood.

"Hi Anne." Ms. Harbison, the librarian says leaning over her round circular desk to see me. I flinched at the name that wasn't quite the same as what hurts but close enough, and turn around facing her with a mini smile artificially plastered on my face and a small wave gave by my hand.

Making a quick sweep of the area I walk over and reply, "Hi."

"So how is everything?" she asks looking at me. She's probably the only person that I trust with my voice. I've came here since freshman year and every day she patiently waited for me well after school closing time, smiled warmly, never forced me to speak and eventually told about herself;

Her husband passed away sadly six years ago in Afghanistan after a bombing and her nineteen year old son, Harry, is in London University in England. She is 41 and has two children, her second son, James is twenty-one and is attending Wheelock College in Boston. They come to Colorado every month and one time Harry stopped by and I got to meet him. He shook my hand and was the only guy I have ever met that was actually respectful, never asked once why I answered his conversation with a small smile.

"The same. Sarah forced me to clean the house, yard and stuff. Dad still hasn't come home like he promised but he did call me last night." I say and she listens intently leaning in close when my words come out hardly above a whisper. My father is a flight attendant and is barely ever makes it home, but now he's engaged to a gold digging wench named Sarah. She uses the money for herself and her shopping addiction. She tryed bonding with me in the beginning over shopping, which by the way I hate. So she went shopping for me and got me a heep of slutty clothes and heels which are now hidden in a box in the way back of my walk in closet. Since I refused to bond over that she simply gave up and started treating me like a slave. And for the past two years she has been cheating on my dad and everytime I got close to telling him she pulled me away and later that night one of her boy toys beat me up. Funny how fast Sarah was willing to lend concealer.

"Well what did he say?" she asked already knowing the answer.

Dad comes home around once a month so I don't get to see him much, and my phone only rings with his name on the I.D. about once every three weeks to talk about his life and how great his is. He doesn't even realize how broken I am and that his fiance is practically a prostitute. Along with me getting beat up at least once a week by Sarah's boy toys who think she will actually call them again if they give up their sobriety and morals.